Acknowledging Failure
by Teanni
Summary: James Norrington is a broken man. He's tumbling towards redemption and meets up with a strange young woman who's idea of freedom somehow won't fit the time she lives in. Grudges have to buried and above all Jack Sparrow has to be saved. JNOC, WEJ
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**. Of course, I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, go figure. Not even the characters William Turner, Elizabeth Swann, Davy Jones, Jack Sparrow, James Norrington, Tia Dalma, Mr. Cotton and Mr. Cotton's parrot - no one. The one thing I did come up with on my own was Josephine Beckett and the insane plot I devised for the characters :-) This is written purely out of fan-appreciation and because I love love love love! the movies. So please don't sue, okay?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once again he snug a quick glance at the sack he had hidden inside his bag. Just to make sure it was still there. How was it possible that something this small could have so much power? It was just a putrid piece of flesh, a muscle that was ceaselessly clenching and unclenching. Come to think of it, its stubborn activity was rather senseless, since it wasn't anymore attached to a body through which it could pump any blood. So why did it still feel compelled to perform this task? Of course, the legend said that when Davy Jones cut out his heart, it was to get rid off his emotions, off the pain he felt. Funny, he could relate. With an abrupt gesture he pulled the bag shut and slung it over his shoulder once again.

It had been quite sometime since he felt anything other than loathing and disgust. A fact which made him dimly wonder whether there was actually someone running around with his heart in a sack. It certainly felt like it. He could also vividly imagine who would be the owner of this cruelly extracted organ. A certain governor's daughter came to mind. Just because of her and this bloody pirate everything was gone: his career, his reputation, everything that had determined who he was, but he would not capitulate, not just yet.

His dirty boots dug forcefully into the muddy surface of the street which led to Cutler Beckett's estate. He had come to the finer areas of Port Royal and his appearance - his unshaved, dirty face and long unruly hair - made the ladies wrinkle their noses and the gentlemen shake their heads indignantly. He tried to ignore their stares, act as if he didn't care nor notice, but deep down it hurt, because he could remember a time when any of these ladies, who now looked at him disgustedly, would have fawned over him, asking him whether he had just met their young, eligible daughters. James Norrington lowered his head and continued his way with a grim expression on his face.

Out of a house entrance a few meters ahead a slender figure emerged, its face well hidden underneath the rim of a hat. It appeared to be a young boy, not older than maybe eighteen. Judging from the slightly awkward, shy way he moved, he was afraid to tumble over his own limbs any second. He looked nervously around before he stepped out on the street, but failed to notice a certain grim looking man coming his way and was promptly knocked over by the impact of their collision.

Years of etiquette persistently hammered into young James's head could not be shaken off easily, so he wordlessly reached out his hand, more out of a reflex than actual thoughtfulness, and helped the young man up. The pale face in which he stared seconds later was very smooth and gave away the impression that no single hair had ever dared to sprout on this chin. The eyes that peered up at him timidly were grotesquely large aquamarine pools.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't see you coming," the voice was breathy and oddly high. The poor lad must have been even younger than he suspected at first. He hadn't even gone through puberty. The way he squirmed under his gaze told him that he wasn't just shy, he was frightened of him. James decided that there was no need to add to the poor fellow's disquietude, so he chose not to take his temper out on him.

"No harm done. I am myself not entirely innocent in this," he admitted. His manners and polished accent presented a stark contrast to his rugged outward appearance.

Apparently his kind words were not enough to calm the young man down who hastily continued stuttering apologies.

"Listen, young man…what's your name?" he asked exasperatedly.

The boy rewarded this simple question with an incredulous stare as if he had just asked which colour the queen's knickers were, then after a couple of seconds he finally summoned enough courage to answer. "I'm Jo…Joseph," he managed to get out.

"Alright, Joseph, it's been a while since I've last been to Port Royal. A lot of things have change, so I've been wondering if you could kindly point me to Lord Cutler Beckett's estate…."

"Oh, yes," Joseph smiled, baring a set of impeccably white teeth. His nervousness seemed to have finally dissipated. "You won't be able to miss it, sir. It's right next to Governor Swann's house."

"Thank you," he nodded and shouldered his bag again, eager to continue his way.

"You're welcome," the boy called after him with his clear voice.

A couple of minutes later James had gained admittance to Beckett's study. After he had revealed his name and the purpose of his visit to the men who stood guard outside the manor, he was quickly asked to step inside. So far all was going according to plan.

While talking to Beckett he tried to keep his calm, though his mind was the whole time set on one thing: he wanted things to turn back the way they were before he had made the acquaintance of Jack Sparrow or even thought about wooing Elizabeth Swann. When he allowed the other man to briefly sneak a peak at the precious contents of his bag the negotiations immediately took a favourable twist. Beckett was suddenly whistling a different tune.

Of course, the crown would drop all accusations against his person, he would be even promoted to the rank of an Admiral. James registered those words as if through a haze and when they finally shook hands to set the seal on their agreement, it took him quite some effort not to burst into a relieved smile. Momentarily the consequences of this deal were of no importance to him as long as he just got his life back.

"Now, Admiral Norrington, there is so much we must talk about," Beckett's unpleasant voice brought him back to the present.

"Of course," he answered, ever the dutiful soldier.

"We will discuss matters over dinner tonight. So that you will have an opportunity to dress to the occasion," he gave him the eye-over, wrinkling his nose disgustedly.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He stepped one last time in front of the mirror. The man that looked back at him was strangely alien, yet familiar. The white-haired wig, the ruffled shirt he wore, the polished shoes – it all felt like a disguise. He wondered whether this clothes had always been this uncomfortable or it was just the fact that he wasn't used to wearing them anymore.

His head itched underneath the wig, but he could only just resist the urge to scratch it. He threw a last scolding glance at his reflection, then turned to leave.

When James Norrington stepped inside the huge dining-room that was light by dozens of candles flickering on golden candelabras, it felt like entering a different world. Only a couple of days ago he had gotten himself into a bar fight at Tortuga and now he was dining in the company of the Queen's delegate.

The room was filled with people: a couple of high-ranking navy officers, some of which he recognized immediately. They nodded at him courtly, though the expression in their eyes was anything but welcoming. Over by the corner were Mr. Diggery and Mr. Hobbs, who were deeply engrossed in conversation. They were two of the most influential man of Port Royal, both of them merchants.

Lord Beckett had doubtlessly assembled some of the most important people of this little Caribbean town. In spite of his popularity he still couldn't help but dislike the man, but sympathies were of no importance in his situation. James forced a smile when he spotted their host among the crowd.

Lord Beckett advanced to greet him. A young woman, maybe about 20 years of age, followed him obediently, her eyes downcast in a coy manner. Her dress was of a rich burgundy red colour, probably velvet and worth a fortune. As it was fashionable among ladies of her social strata her skin was completely pale, as if it was never even touched by sunlight. Her dark hair made the contrast between her clothing and her complexion seem rather dramatically.

"Admiral Norrington, so glad you could join us. May I present my sister Josephine, she just arrived from London."

Jospehine curtsied and extended her pale hand to him. He took it, ever the gentleman, and slightly bowed his head above it. His lips never touched her skin. The whole time her eyes remained averted. She was too familiar with the situation to even blush. When he let go of her hand, she finally looked at him. Her fine porcelain features where dominated by two huge aquamarine pools. He had seen this face before, but…it couldn't be. How could she have managed…He immediately discarded the thought, mainly to be able to keep decorum.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Admiral. London always offers such dull company," the mysterious creature replied with an enigmatic smile on her lips.

"The pleasure's all mine, Lady Beckett," came his inevitable answer.

"Since presentations have been made, we can finally sit down to dinner. We shan't discuss business on an empty stomach, after all we are not brutes," Cuttler awarded him with a pointed glance. "I suppose it has been quite sometime since you were able to enjoy a proper dinner, Admiral?"

He just nodded in reply and obediently followed the siblings to the dinner table, graciously ignoring the host's snide remarks. When he had sat down his gaze fell on the polished silver cutlery next to his porcelain plate and the crystal glasses that were quickly filled with ruby red wine. The corner's of his mouth briefly curled into a satisfied smile, then he had himself under control again.

Diner passed rather uneventful, but he couldn't help but steal curious glances at Josephine from time to time. She sat across from him, eating with the grace only lady of her upbringing could demonstrate. The Beef Wellington that was lying on her plate was sliced in tiny nibbles which she gracefully balanced on her fork, before she took them in her mouth. He thought her oblivious to his scrutiny until she sipped her wine and her eyes met his over the rim of glass. They had a positive mischievous expression to them.

He quickly averted his gaze. His previous suspicions became a certainty. This wasn't their first meeting today. He would love to have a word with her, but now was not the time to satisfy his curiosity.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note**: Well, look here! New chapter's up. From now on I'll update on a weekly basis (I've got a slight head-start, but I've got a major - really major exam coming up, which does also conveniently provide the reason why I'm gonna update every week. Escapism - you know) Thanks for the reviews, you guys. Always nice to get a response, so don't be shy to drop me a few lines...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm sure you are not as foolish as to believe your newly acquired position doesn't come with any responsibilities," Lord Beckett stared unblinkingly at the flickering flames of the open fire-place in his private study. The warm shine reflected on his lifeless pupils.

"I'll do what is expected of me," James replied, straightening unconsciously.

"It's good to hear you know your place," the other man informed him and comfortably leant back in his leather armchair. A brief pause ensued, during which James motionlessly remained at his post next to the fireplace. He had refused to sit down. He found that standing up kept one more alert and he certainly needed to be in this conversation.

"I want Sparrow's head," Beckett informed him in an rather unfazed tone as if he was merely asking what time it was.

The other man's eyes narrowed to tiny slights at the mention of this name. "Consider it done," Norrington answered through clenched teeth. He certainly had no scruples when it came to that accursed pirate. "Though I highly doubt that he has been able to escape Davy Jones's wrath."

"How come?"

"He sold his soul in exchange for his ship. When I last saw him he was desperately trying to escape the kraken, but given his persistency I would suppose he even managed to survive that."

"If that be the case it will afford us the pleasure of ensuring his demise."

"Yes," maybe that was the only thing they could agree on.

"What about Turner and his fiancé? Do you think they survived the attack?"

"I suppose."

"You suppose?" Beckett chuckled humourlessly. "Well, never you mind. That can be quickly remedied. With Davy Jones's heart I will finally be able to cure this disease they call piracy," his eyes sparkled dangerously. "And you, my dear Admiral Norrington, will be my right hand. You will make sure everything goes as planned."

A shiver ran down James's back, when he heard the insane fervour in Lord Beckett's voice. He felt his conscience stir, but managed to contain both his unease as well as his moral doubts successfully – at least for the moment.

"We'll summon the Flying Dutchman. It will be my instrument to instil peace and order and get rid off those god forsaken pirates once and for all. They'll never even know what hit them," he clenched his fist and slammed it down on the bolstered armrest.

"You'll be going on board in three days," Beckett threw him a sarcastic glance, "Since it was you who brought me the heart, I find it rather befitting."

"Yes, sir," Norrington managed to get out after a heavy gulp. He knew the implications of this order all too well. It had been a mistake to assume that his life would simply return to the way it was before he had had that fateful encounter with Captain Jack Sparrow.

"May I ask permission to leave the room?" he suddenly felt the over-whelming need for air.

"Permission granted," Beckett dismissed him with a tired wave of his hand. His mouth twitched as he calmly watched the Admiral's flight.

James hastened out of the room and down the corridor towards the two-winged glass-door that let to the balcony of the first floor. He practically ripped open the door and stepped outside. The cool night air engulfed him immediately, but did little to ease his mind. His hands grabbed the rail as if for support, while he hastened to open the upper buttons of his shirt. It felt like he was choking. He tried to calm himself taking long and steady breaths, while he assessed the situation.

He had known all along that restoring his reputation would have come with a certain price, but he had never suspected that it would be this high. He had handed over the heart to Beckett and thereby the power to command Davy Jones. As soon as James would have boarded the ship, his life would be in the hands of a crew of undead monsters and their captain who knew neither compassion nor mercy. Naturally they would be compelled to obey Beckett's commands, but it wasn't as if he was needed to make sure they did. If they slit his throat or worse, made him a member of their cursed crew, it would be of little consequence to the grander scheme.

His hands tightened around the balustrade so that the knuckles protruded and turned white. He was having a hard time keeping his temper in check.

"A conversation with my brother does have that effect on most people," a female voice remarked from behind him.

After a long pause he finally decided to speak, not bothering to turn around "Oh, really," he said sarcastically.

"How long have you been there?"

"For quite some time, actually since dinner. It's my favourite place in the house," Josephine stepped next to him. "You can see the sea from out here."

He didn't care much for the sea at present. All he wanted was to be left alone.

"My brother tells me there was a warrant out on your head only a couple of days ago," she added conversationally.

"Then you should know that is very unwise of a young lady to be seen with an alleged criminal, though he may just have been granted pardon…Nevertheless he might still not be able to escape the gallows."

Unbeknownst to him, as he was still staring ahead, she smiled her mysterious smile again, only now it had a wistful note to it. "Even for me it's best never to turn my back on my brother," Josephine replied darkly. "It requires a lot of strength to always be on guard and this last couple of days have been positively exhausting. So you see, even the presence of an pardoned criminal," she said those words not without a certain irony in her voice, "isn't able to spook me anymore."

"What makes you think I merit such frankness?"

"Because I think you're the kind of man who can be trusted to keep a secret," even though he didn't look, he could feel her eyes on him.

"Miss Beckett, we barely know each other, so it's safely to say you hardly know what kind of man I am," there was a dark tone in his voice that indicated she was approaching a rather sensitive subject.

"True, but I'm still entitled to an educated guess," he could hear the smile in her voice. "After all you didn't tell him."

"That doesn't mean I condone your behaviour."

"Is it that incomprehensible to you?"

"It's just not proper for a young lady to be walking around dressed as a man," he threw her an exasperate glance. She was standing beside him. Her bare underarms rested casually on the stone balustrade. The night wind had loosened a couple of dark strains from her elaborate headdress, which were now floating lightly on the soft breeze.

"And it's also extremely dangerous," James hurried to add.

"You sound just like my mother," she said amusedly. "Once you will have spent more time in this house, you will come to understand my reasons."

"I highly doubt I ever will. I mean…how can you be so naïve! Have you actually never thought about what would happen if anyone ever found out, who you really are? Did it ever occur to you that you could be abducted and held a prisoner, only to afford some ruffian the possibility to extort a substantial amount of money from your family?" his indignation had made him forget his own worries. He continued appealing to her reason, hoping that he could convince her that her behaviour was not only improper, but also much too risky. "…and that's not the worst thing that could happen, mind you."

"Maybe I am naïve," she raised her chin challengingly. Her jaw clenched and gave her face very stern expression, "Maybe I am taking too many risks, but at least I won't have to ask myself whether I let an opportunity just pass by. I prefer living my life instead of watching others live theirs."

"Obviously you didn't understand a single word I was saying. You're a woman for Christ sakes!" he cried out as if that alone would explain everything.

"And a woman needs to be protected by a man, is that right?" he didn't see the trap that was lurking in the subtext of those words, so he stumbled right into it.

" Exactly," Norrington answered with an air of self-satisfied contentment. Apparently she had finally managed to grasp his point.

"Then I'm sure you won't make any objections to accompanying me tomorrow night." Josephine said innocently.

"I most certainly will not accompany you," James protested indignantly.

"What you will do or won't is between you and your conscience, Admiral. You'll still have some time to make up your mind about it till tomorrow evening," Josephine told him with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, ignoring his refusal completely. Ere he could reply she had disappeared through the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Additional update**. I got this done a little bit earlier...I suppose you don't mind :-)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As usually Josephine was woken up by her maid precisely at seven o'clock in the morning. The heavy curtains were pulled apart so that the sunlight could illuminate the room and wake the sleepy young woman who stretched on her bed and protested with an unladylike yawn. It hadn't been her idea to rise that early. Her brother considered it a substantial virtue and so she had to obey. It was his house and he made the rules in it. A fact which she was constantly reminded of.

She got to her feet and looked around owlishly. Contrary to the general fashion that predominated in London, where ladies applied a substantial amount of perfume to cover up their body odour, she actually washed herself each morning with water and soap. Besides splashing her face with ice cold water always helped her to wake up.

When she was done, her maid Clementine usually helped her to get dressed. It was the part of her morning routine, she hated the most. She was laced up much too tightly into yet another corset which reduced her already slim waist to impossible tiny proportions and kept her from breathing properly. It was like a medieval torture device. Whenever she didn't hold herself absolutely straight, the corset bones duck admonishingly into her sides.

After she had finished dressing she slowly descended the stairs to the dining-room, where she would have breakfast with her brother. Usually she had just a few bites of her toast and half-hearted sip of her tea. As a habit Cutler blissfully ignored her, but today he was oddly eager on making conversation with her.

"You look well rested, my dear," he flattered her with an unusual gentle voice.

"It might be the warm climate," she answered cautiously.

"So, how did you like yesterday's dinner party?" his question made her alert. Usually he never asked for her opinion. He didn't deem it valid. Her thoughts were as trivial to him as the babbling of a little child.

"It was pleasant," she replied curtly.

"What about our new friend, the Admiral?"

"We shared some polite words over diner, but I fear that will be too little to actually judge his character," Josephine answered elusively.

"Well, I'll afford you the possibility to deepen your acquaintance further, dearest sister. He will be our guest for the coming three days. After that he is supposed to perform a little errant for me," she didn't like the way he pronounced the word errant. It made her assume that it was an euphemistic way of paraphrasing mortal danger. If her suspicions were correct, it was no wonder Norrington had been so agitated yesterday.

"What do you expect me to do, brother?" she asked obediently.

"Behave as a good hostess should, since I'll have to excuse myself. There are matters of business I have to attend to." The prospect that he would be away for a while made her rejoice inwardly, but those emotions didn't reflect on her inexpressive face.

"It will be my pleasure," Josephine responded and inclined her head.

Obviously Cutler was satisfied with her answer, as a content grin briefly flitted over his face, "Excellent," that was the last word they spoke with each other over breakfast.

A lady wasn't expected to do anything useful with her time expect maybe knitting or reading (of course, no books were allowed that could corrupt a woman's impressionable mind). She wasn't allowed to be idle either, because idleness provoked the most inappropriate thoughts.

Apparently Josephine had been thoroughly corrupted by idleness and the wrong reading. She preferred books that were not meant for a female readership and treated topics like politics and philosophy. It was quite easy to disguise them accordingly, so that no one would suspect her of reading them. She simply took the cover of an romance novel, ripped out the original pages and then clued in new ones.

Right after breakfast she went up to her room to pursue her usual interests and do some reading. Today it was Thomas More's Utopia. At times she let the book drop to her lap and looked out of her window pensively. Before she had come here, she had often despaired upon the fact that her life was so limited, due to the fact that she was a woman. She would have never rebelled openly, but now things were different.

The first thing she had seen, right after she had disembarked at Port Royal, was a young woman dressed in man's clothes, arguing vividly with a merchant. Evidently this was a perfectly normal sight around here, because no one had turned his head or pointed with his finger.

Shortly after she had heard about Elizabeth Swann, the Governor's daughter. She was the talk of the town. A rumour said she had escaped from prison - where Cutler had ordered to detain her, by the way - and run off to rescue her fiancé, a pirate, which made matters even more scandalous.

Josephine had even been able to catch a brief glimpse of her, when the Miss Swann had snug inside the mansion and threatened her brother with a weapon. The situation had been deeply disquieting to her, because she had discovered that she didn't feel frightened for her brother nor preoccupied for his well-being. Quite the contrary, Josephine had admired the other woman for her courage.

Those experiences had inspired thoughts that she could no longer suppress. Her brother Cutler was not the only one who understood something about scheming. She had devised a thoroughly laid plan in the last couple of days, how she could finally break free from those bounds imposed on her by her gender.

When she had roamed the town the other day and accidentally collided with Norrington, it had just been a test run to see whether anybody would recognize her in her disguise as a boy. Everything had run smoothly except for that tiny hitch. Perhaps she had been too nervous. Anyways it wouldn't happen again.

Tonight she would try to arrange a passage to Tortuga and maybe with any luck she would be gone by the end of the week. The thought made her feel ecstatic and frightened her at the same time.

What part Norrington would play in her plan, she wasn't able to tell yet. Her brother had mentioned his name a couple of days before the Admiral's arrival and told her that he had once been a respectable officer in the Queen's Royal Navy, but had now fallen from grace.

This information had stirred her curiosity and Josephine had made some investigations of her own. During a stroll over the promenade she had casually mentioned Norrington's name in the presence of Minzy Diggery, she was the daughter of Mr. Cedric Diggery, a wealthy merchant, and gossiping about other peoples misfortunes was her favourite pastime. Minzy had related to her, of course in all confidence, that Norrington had once been one of the most eligible bachelors of the town, "quite dashing" were the words she had used. The poor Commodore had been betrothed to Miss Swann, who preferred the apprentice of the local blacksmith over him and ran away with the young man, some William Turner or what-was-his-name. Such a humiliation! What was more scandalous yet, was the fact that the couple formed a deep friendship with the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. Here Minzy had inserted a dramatic pause, because she was sure her conversation partner understood perfectly well how inexcusable Miss Swann's behaviour had been.

Captain Sparrow was a name that was mentioned quite frequently in the Beckett household, especially in connections with death treats. Her brother had once had a run in with him which didn't bode all too well, but that was another story….

Anyway, the Commodore had graciously given up his interest in Elizabeth, stepped back to let love take its course. After that he had gone crazy because of his unrequited love for Miss Swann, that was at least how Minzy had put it. Josephine found that formulation a tad bit over-dramatic. In the next three years he had put all his energies into catching Jack Sparrow, that terrible pirate. It was rumoured his methods had been quite reckless. Just exactly how reckless Josephine hadn't been able to learn from her friend, because Minzy had suddenly gotten very excited about some dress that was displayed in a shop-window they had just passed by and had refused to talk anymore over such "frightfully depressing matters".

That had been just about everything she had been able to find out about him. That little information wasn't enough to make sure whether he could be trusted with her secret, let alone become a part of her plan.

Josephine wasn't as naïve as to believe that she could manage to escape on her own. She would be disguised as a boy, which already ensured her a considerable amount of safety, but that would not be enough. Thanks to her small frame and her soft feature she would still be viewed by others as particularly easy prey and what made matters worse, she didn't even know how to fire a pistol nor how to handle a sword. She needed an accomplice, preferable male. Maybe now she was able to provide one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note**: That's the longest chapter so far...I hope you'll enjoy. If you do please hit the review button. If you don't please hit the review button, too. I think you know what I'm getting at... :-)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"At nine. The fountain on the market square," she had whispered to him this afternoon, when she had casually passed him a cup of tea. Her innocent manner didn't let anyone suspect her of harbouring any conspiratorial plans and for a second he asked himself whether he had truly heard her utter those words.

Scandalous – that was what this proposition was, Norrington thought while he threw over a dark coat and briefly checked his appearance in the mirror. He was dressed in plain clothes so he wouldn't attract any attention. The powdered wig that decorum required him to wear together with his uniform had been carelessly discarded on the nightstand. He was glad he didn't have to wear it, because it was awfully uncomfortable. He would have never admitted this in public though.

If anyone ever found out about this…a secret meeting with a lady who wore the disguise of a boy…he shook his head as he strode out of the door.

A couple of minutes later he had arrived at the fountain, where Josephine was already waiting for him. She wore brown pants and a jacket. Her long hair was hidden away underneath a hat. There was nothing about her that made one suspect she was a woman, except maybe the soft features of her face, but those were also not uncommon among milk-faced boys at the brink of puberty.

"You came," she greeted him with a smile.

"I honestly still don't know why," he answered gruffly.

"Curiosity, perhaps?"

He shot her a dark glance, but unfortunately it missed its purpose, because she completely ignored it.

"Before we go, there are a few simple rules we have to agree on."

"Go where?" he interrupted her brusquely.

"I'm starving. I haven't had a decent meal all day. It's pretty hard to develop an appetite, when you're laced up in a corset all day which has apparently been devised to make women starve or choke them to death," Josephine informed him.

"I suppose that means you want to go to a tavern," Norrington concluded exasperatedly. That blasted woman was absolutely unbelievable! The cheek!

"Right, but before we go, we have to establish some rules…"

"This is ridiculous!" he rolled his eyes and turned to leave, but a slender hand grabbed him by the sleeve of his coat ere he could get away. The gesture did achieve the desired effect since he froze immediately. Both their eyes landed on the hand that persistently held on to his arm. Josephine immediately retrieved it.

"Please, don't go," she looked at him imploringly with her impossible huge blue eyes.

"Alright," he conceded after a moment of hesitation and mainly because he didn't have much to lose. The noose had already been lain around his neck.

"So the rules…," Norrington finally supplied.

"Oh, yes," she smilingly indicated the way with her out-stretched hand. They started walking. This time of the night, Port Royal was completely deserted. "You're to address me as Joe in public. Try to remember not to hold any doors for me or pull out chairs. It would seem suspicious, besides you wouldn't do so for any fellow men either, I suppose," Josephine gave him a pointed look.

"No," the hint of a smile was tugging at the corner's of his mouth.

"There's another thing. It doesn't strike me as very prudent to address you with your title...So what's…," to her big dismay she started to stutter insecurely. It was true that she showed a certain callousness when it came to other aspects of life, but she had never called a man by his first name, except for her father or brother. It was something intimate, reserved for family and lovers. Her cheeks reddened at the thought.

Norrington saw her blush. It was good to know there were something she still felt ashamed about, "It's James," there was a slight tremor in his voice.

They had finally arrived at the tavern. It was a tiny place near the harbour. The crowd there wasn't as bad as in Tortuga, for which probably the presence of Lord Beckett was to blame. Josephine briefly glanced around to take in their surroundings. This certainly wasn't a scenery she was used to. The customers mostly consisted of sailors and dockers – men with dirt under their nails and a tough appearance. The interior of the tavern was rather rustic, the tables looked like they never had been cleaned and so did the wooden chairs.

Nevertheless this was new territory for her, she bravely made her way to the bar. The bartender was a stout and bearded man, who greeted her with a nod, when he saw her approach.

"What can I do fer ya?" he asked with a rough voice.

"Two mugs of ail…," she started to order.

"You're not from around here, eh? England, right?" the bartender interrupted her, "We don't have no ail. It'll be rum or nothing, lad."

James could hardly suppress his amusement at the interchange and observed the scene standing next to her, with his back leant casually against the bar.

"Alright, then make it two mugs of rum and something to eat…anything…I'm starving."

"Aye, matey. Couldn't hurt if you put on a couple of pounds," the bartender laughed. "Or you'd be blown away by the next draft."

Josephine frowned disapprovingly, but wordlessly took the mugs of rum and saunter over to the table with her head held high. She slumped down on her chair in an unladylike manner and laxly rested her boots on an empty stool. Trying to act casually, she shoved one of the mugs in James's direction. Her next words however betrayed her nervousness.

"You do drink rum, right?" she asked insecurely.

A memory from a couple of weeks back flashed in his mind. A drunken haze, a bar fight, mud and the squealing of pigs. "Yes," he answered with is mouth set in a sour expression.

She sniffed her drink perspicuously, then finally decided to take a sip. Josephine had to muster all her will-power to not contort her face into some grimace. How could men drink that? The liquid was burning in her throat and one could practically taste the alcohol. It was nothing like the red wine which she was used to drinking at dinner.

She observed Norrington curiously as he took his first sip. He didn't hold his throat nor cough, there was not the slightest reaction on his face. She concluded that men obviously drank rum, ergo she'd better developed a liking for it. Josephine suspected that would turn out to be a highly challenging task.

A few minutes later a steaming plate of lamb stew was placed in front of her together with some slices of breath and a spoon. She was ravenous by now so she didn't care much for etiquette and started wolfing down the food enthusiastically. Josephine was surprised to find out, when she was already halfway through the plate -because that was how long her taste buds needed to actually start working thanks to the speed with which she ate - that the food was really good.

"So, what is the point and purpose of this charade?" James decided to speak up, since they were out of hearing range.

His question briefly put a damper on her appetite. She let the spoon drop. "It's not a charade," Josephine hissed at him. This was something she had set her heart upon and she took it quite personally that he obviously didn't think she was serious about it. Josephine took a calming breath, mainly to be able to keep her voice from raising a pitch in anger.

"This is not a charade," she repeated. "It might have occurred to you that I just recently arrived from London. I didn't come on my own accord. My dear father has passed away, so I had to come…"

"I'm sorry for your loss. I didn't mean to be cruel," his expression fell.

She dismissed his remark with a wave of her hand. "My parents were kind and understanding people, quite the opposite of my brother. He's the only heir…," her words implied that which didn't need to be said. Lord Beckett had automatically inherited the family fortune and she, being a woman, was now depended from his good will. "We've never had a special bond. I think he was glad we've barely seen each other since he left home and I suppose he will be all too happy to quickly marry me off to the first suitable candidate available…but that's beside the point," she sighed. The words poured out of her and she wasn't able to stop them from coming. They simply had been bottled up to long and now used the situation in their favour. Perhaps the rum was to blame, too.

"I'm not complaining about my fate in particularly, just about being pushed around, always being told what to do, how to behave…I'm forced to idly stand by while my brother commits deeds I morally condemn," her small fists balled in frustration. "Oh, how I sometimes which I were a man, so I could strike him in the face, but I'm not. I'm just his sister…a mere woman," she had whispered the last words bitterly.

"I'd lie if I said I didn't feel any sympathy for you, but you're forgetting your place…," he gave her a stern look.

"So you're saying I should just get myself together and lead a miserable life, content myself with embroidering hankies and bearing some man's children, is that it?" Josephine's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I would have expressed it in a less dramatic way, but basically yes," he calmly reached for his mug to take a drink.

"Fine, I didn't want to bring this up, but since we've been talking about knowing one's place….what exactly were your orders when it came to Captain Jack Sparrow? I don't think you were ordered to engage in a wild-goose chase for three whole years!"

Norrington slammed the mug on the table so that a considerable amount of rum spilled over the rim. Though he was furious, he managed surprisingly well to keep his voice down. "That's a completely different thing!" he leaned forward in his chair and glared at her. "This man came gallivanting in and took my life, my career…"

"He didn't take anything from you. It was always your decision to make," Josephine mirrored his posture, but with the difference that she had by now calmed down completely.

"Maybe I can't be trusted with making those choices," Norrington muttered bitterly. "After all it got me in this grotesque situation, where I'm sitting in a tavern arguing with a woman whose brother is unflinchingly sending me on a suicide mission."

"You don't have to go," she said as if it was as simple as that. "You do have a choice."

"I'm an Admiral of the Royal Navy, Miss Beckett," he shook his head. It showed how little she knew about the world of men.

"Yes, but this is not treason. Do you think my brother is an honourable man? Do you honestly believe this is the will of the crown? England is far, far away. He's acting out of his own accord, don't you see that?"

"Still there is no way…"

"Actually…," he looked at her in surprise. "See, I haven't been planning on prolonging my stay. There's a passage to Tortuga tomorrow evening…"

"And you want me to come with you," Norrington stated matter-of-factly. "Why?"

"For protection," Josephine replied and surprised herself with her own honesty. Originally she had not intended telling him. As a matter of fact she had planned to somehow manipulate him into accompanying her, but there was something about him that compelled her to tell him the truth. Maybe she wasn't as skilled at scheming as she thought.

He let out a humourless laugh, but then his expression suddenly grew serious. "I don't know, even if I wanted to I can't…"

"You won't have to decide till tomorrow evening," Josephine told him matter-of-factly, but deep down she really wished he would agree. It occurred to her only now that she wasn't solely asking him to come along for her own benefit, she didn't want him to get hurt either, which he certainly would, if he relied on her brother's sense of honour.

Her slender fingers tapped nervously against the side of the tin mug which was by now empty. The rum had been necessary to gather enough courage to make such a keen proposition. Her eyes rested on him expectantly as if she could tell by studying his body language which decision he would take. Norrington's forehead was wrinkled in a pensive frown. His gaze had a faraway expression to it and made her curious what he was thinking about at the moment.

It occurred to her only now that he was good-looking man, at least when he was wearing neither that ridiculous uniform nor that silly wig. She couldn't quite but it in words. Even though he was not the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life, there was something about his face that compelled you to look twice. Maybe it was his eyes, the way those dark, elegant eyebrows curved above them or perhaps his sensual lips. Expressive…that was the word she had been looking for. A face like that had to smile, had to show its owner's emotions to the whole wide word, instead of being condemned to be always set in a melancholic expression as it had been ever since she had made his acquaintance. She had never seen him smile, understandable since his situation wasn't very pleasant at present, but she started to wonder what it would look like if he actually did.

The silence between them stretched out for too long and she grew uncomfortable. The fact that she had an appointment down at the harbour provided her with a sound excuse to start talking again.

"Well, never you mind, do as you please, but we have to leave now. I have to meet the captain on whose ship I intend to book the passage down at the docks," she got up from her chair.

"Are you coming?" Josephine asked a little bit louder, when he didn't react immediately.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was lost in thoughts."

"So, it seemed," Josephine gave him a quick smile, before she went over to the bar to clear her debts.

Seconds later they were out on the streets again. As they got closer to the harbour the air became increasingly humid and heavy to the point that a dense mist engulfed the way before them. The regular pitter-patter of their steps resounded eerily from the facades of the houses left and right of the way. The atmosphere had something positively ghostly to it.

"I wouldn't want to walk these streets alone," Josephine admitted, while a shiver ran down her back.

"I had you down for a rather courageous woman, Miss Beckett and now it turns out you're afraid of ghosts," there was a considerable amount of amusement in Norrington's voice. It almost sounded as if he was teasing her. The frankness of their previous conversation had left him with a certain feeling of familiarity.

"I'm not afraid of ghosts," he could see her eyes sparkle underneath the rim of her hat. "I hardly believe in them anymore."

"You should be afraid, because they are real."

"And I had you down for a sensible man who doesn't believe in any cock-and-bull stories," Josephine told him belatedly. "Maybe you spent too many years on board of a ship."

"You've never been on board of a ship except for the crossing from England, a fact which will hardly allow you to call yourself well-travelled, so I believe it's my judgment we should be trusting," he told her without any spite.

They fell silent again and arrived at their destination a couple of minutes later. At least in this part of the town there was some life even at this late an hour. There was a hand full of sailors who were loading a ship with food and other supplies. Their calls and the cadence of their vivid conversation echoed through the silent night. Down by the peer waited a solitary figure, presumable the captain with whom Josephine had arranged a meeting yesterday. She immediately felt relieved upon seeing him, because inwardly the young woman had doubted he would even bother to come.

"Would you mind waiting here, while I settle things with the captain?" she asked purely out of formality. She didn't expect him to make any objections so she had already turned to walk towards the waiting man, when she heard him speak.

"Yes, actually I do mind, thank you. I'd rather come with you." Something about this situation inspired his deepest mistrust. Maybe it was the dark figure lurking at the end of the peer or the whole set up in general. Underneath his coat his hand reached for his sword..

Josephine just shrugged her shoulder, but didn't object.

As they got closer the mere silhouette of the person standing there became more and more detailed. It turned out to be a white bearded man, who had a slight resemblance with Father Christmas, thanks to the merry sparkle in his eye and his stout figure. It suddenly dawned on him why Josephine had picked this man. He seemed to be completely harmless. His hand dropped from the sword.

"So you finally decided to turn up, lad. Even brought a friend," the man greeted them.

"Good evening to you, too, Captain Woodruf," Josephine replied.

"Didn't forget about me money, eh matey?"

"I'd never dare to," the young woman chuckled and scratched the back of her head in a boyish way. She certainly had studied her part well.

"There is slight change of plan though…It'll be two passages instead of one. My friend James here hasn't decided yet whether he wants to tag along or not, but you'll be getting your money no matter what…In fact, you'll get it now."

Norrington had already opened his mouth to protest, but a look from her silenced him.

"Fine by me," Captain Woodruf answered and spit in his hand ere he held it out to Josephine.

She knew she had to shake it in order to seal the deal, but it took her quite some effort to do it. In her head a tiny voice told her that lady didn't spit and much less take dirty hands, but she did it anyway. Afterwards Josephine wordlessly produced the require gold coins. She was rather proud of herself, since everything had been taken care of now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: **This is going to be a little bit tacky...I just couldn't resist the temptation of putting a quote from Shakespeare's _Midsummer Night's Dream_ in (which I don't own by the way - miles away from that kind of brilliance). I'll try to lay low on the cheesy for now on, but sometimes I just feel an urge to write fluff...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The golden light of the afternoon sun fell inside the room and broke into several different rays, when it hit the window glass. She was dreadfully bored and the silence between them had stretched out so long it had almost become tangible. He was back to brooding again, something he seemed to be doing a lot. Josephine stifled a yawn which she discreetly concealed behind the palm of her hand. When she reached for her cup the springs of the couch on which she sat squealed in protest. The young woman calmly took a sip of the steaming beverage, then set it down on the saucer again.

"When was the last time you've truly been happy, Admiral Norrington?" they had gone back to more formal surroundings and consequentially her manner of making conversation had adapted to them. The feeling of the tight corset against her skin was a ever present reminder of etiquette and very hard to dismiss.

Her unexpected question obviously startled him. He looked at her in wonder, but quickly composed himself again. "Happiness…is a very distant memory."

"How positively dreadful!" She rose from the couch and the fabric of her elaborate dress rustled as she moved towards the window. "But there must be something…anything."

"I'm afraid I can't entertain with any story about a particularly happy memory as of now," Josephine heard him say. Her eyes were basking in the sight that was Port Royal bathed in the light of the afternoon sun.

"You're quite a depressing companion, dear Admiral," the young woman announced and turned around. "Isn't there anything you enjoy doing…a book you love or perhaps…," her feet stopped in front of the pianoforte that stood in the room. She suspected it had never been played on and served purely as a decorative element. Her fingers briefly brushed over the keys to intone a few notes of a popular nursery rhyme. "A certain tune you enjoy hearing?"

She could have sworn the ghost of a smirk briefly flitted over his face. "You're very persistent."

"You qualify for my persistence," she smiled at him fondly.

"A Midsummer Night's Dream," Norrington said finally and to his dismay he had to discover that his answer seemed to amuse her.

"I'm sorry," he had to admit her laughter was very pleasant, warm and clear, "I just didn't picture you to be a man who enjoys comedies."

"As it were, it's not entirely comic in effect," he protested.

"I'm aware of that," Josephine told him a little bit aggravated. She wrinkled her forehead pensively, ere she hesitantly started speaking again, "_Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind…_I love this part, but I can never quite seem to remember the lines."

"_Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste;Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste: And therefore is love said to be a child, because in choice he is so oft beguil'd_," he supplied. For a long time those lines had had a bitter sting to them, because they had unpleasantly reminded him of his own misfortunes in love, but now he could enjoy them for what they were again – just beautiful and poetic words. He didn't asked how this change had come about, he was just thankful for it.

"Yes," Josephine awarded him with a shy smile and to her surprise it was requited by him. What surprised her even more was the effect it had on his face. It made him appear younger, boyish even and there was this delightful, mischievous twinkle in his eye, which was absolutely charming.

"You're a different person, when you're smiling," the words had escaped her lips ere she could rethink them or stop them from coming. Josephine blushed slightly, because of her boldness. She had never paid such a compliment to a man.

Norrington was just about to reply, when their conversation was brusquely disrupted by the arrival of her brother Cutler. He hadn't cared to announce his presence by a knock at the door, instead he had simply stormed in without a warning. His power had made him neglectful of his manners, but there was no one to correct him in that fault.

The expression on Josephine's face quickly changed from startled to annoyed and finally to impassiveness. She walked over to the couch, sat down and reached for her tea again which had by now become tepid.

"I see you're back again, dearest brother," she remarked dryly.

"I wasn't disrupting anything, was I?" Lord Beckett asked sardonically.

"I was merely asking the Admiral whether he'd like to hear me play the pianoforte," she sipped of her tea.

"Unfortunately the Admiral won't be able to enjoy your musical performance, since I have to steal him away from you. There have been some recent changes of events that need to be discussed."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They were back in Lord Beckett's study again. Apparently it had been decorated according to his personal wishes, because upon entering the room one always felt uneasy, that was at least James's opinion. The dark colours mixed with the mahogany wood of the furniture added to that impression. As did the trophies that hung from the walls, the heads of exotic animals that stared down at him with hollow, lifeless eyes.

Beckett had made himself comfortable in the huge leather chair behind his writing table and asked him to have a seat as well. He had obliged and since then no word had been spoken. James was starting to wonder what it was the other man wanted to discuss with him.

When his vis-à-vis finally started to speak, the impact of his words hit him like a bucket of ice cold water, "I know about you and Josephine." The way in which he revealed that crucial piece of information implied that he felt a certain sadistic pleasure in doing so.

The armchair on which James said had suddenly become very uncomfortable, "I'm sorry, I must have gotten you wrong. There is nothing between your Miss Beckett and me."

"Oh, Admiral, there is no need for pretence! We're far past that. Do you think a man in my position, a man who controls the entire trait on this part of the world, who knows the name of every merchant in the Caribbean and is able to command them, would not notice when his sister tries to steal away to Tortuga?" Beckett savoured the shocked expression on Norrington's face. It was moments like this that made him enjoy life.

"She asked you to accompany her, isn't that right? Quite a tempting over, since she is a woman of considerable beauty and education, any man would be happy…," he emphasized the last word as if it was something extremely obscene.

"My intentions towards your sister have always been honourable," Norrington said indignantly.

"Nevertheless had there not been this unexpected turn of events, you would have come with her, isn't it so?"

Norrington had posed himself this question again and again since yesterday night. Ironically it was only now that he could finally answer it. He could not explain his decision with the aid of reasonable arguments, it was just clear to him that he wanted to go with her, so there was nothing left for him to say but 'yes'.

"I'm not in a position to take this choice away from you, just make you rethink your decision perhaps, because if you actually met up with her tonight, she would be dead before you could reached her."

"You wouldn't! She you're sister!" Norrington had gotten to his feed. The force of his sudden movement made the chair behind him fall over. His mind was spinning with all sorts of troublesome thoughts most of them concerning Josephine's well-being.

"She's only a mere woman, a means to an end. It would be a regrettable loss, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good. You understand that your role in my plans is to vital too let you go," Beckett smiled at him maliciously.

"What about her?" James asked worriedly. "Will you leave her alone if I agree to do as you say? Do I have your word as a gentleman?"

"I will order Woodruff to safely escort her to Tortuga," Lord Beckett conceded while he comfortably folded his hands over his chest.

"It is settled then," Norrington nodded grimly, his face by now an impassive mask.

"It is settled and though I don't doubt your word can be trusted, I will assign some men to guard your door to make sure, you remember to keep your promise."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_I want to know what you're thinking, so please hit the review button. Pretty please_?


	6. Chapter 6

Josephine had taken all necessary precautions. She had waited until the house had fallen completely silent, only then she dared to risk a quick glance outside. The corridor was deserted and all lights had been extinguished. Moving inside of the house without being noticed would not be the difficult part of her flight, what had her worried were the patrolling guards outside. She bravely shouldered the duffle bag that was lying on the floor next to her bed and gave her room one final look of good-bye ere she silently crept through the house.

Her feet made no sound on the carpeted floors, but when she reached the wooden stairs her heart started pounding nervously. She cautiously stepped on the first grade, praying silently it wouldn't creak under her weight. To her immense relieve it didn't. After proceeding in the same fashion down the rest of the stair, she had finally reached the bottom.

Josephine knew her surroundings well, since that was where she had spent almost every waking hour in the past few weeks. Except for a few strolls down the promenade her brother didn't allow her to leave the house, but that would soon belong to the past and fade into an unpleasant memory.

She had no trouble finding her way even in the darkness. She knew where to set her feet and the obstacles in her way that a few articles of furniture presented, were easily evaded. Josephine finally entered the kitchen and cautiously opened the back door to sneak a peak outside. Luckily she had managed to guess just the right moment, to do so. The patrol had just passed and was now continuing his route alongside the house wall. Obviously the monotony of walking his rounds all night had dulled his senses. The torch in his hand flickered as a draft of wind hit him, but he continued his way mindlessly. Josephine silently crept out of her hiding place, careful to avoid the luminary of light that extended from the torch the soldier carried in his hand. She followed him till they reached the garden door which, to her astonishment, stood open. She didn't question this lucky coincidence and hurried outside quickly.

Anticipation made her reach their meeting place in no time. The fountain was dabbling merely and when she briefly looked down at the surface, underneath which dozens of golden coins were sparkling, Josephine could see her own face smiling back at her. She had arrived a little bit untimely, thanks to her excitement. That left her with few more minutes to kill before he would turn up, so she reached in her pocket and produced a small golden coin. The young woman closed her eyes and made a wish, then quickly threw the coin over her shoulder. She chuckled at her own naivety and her face quickly grew serious again, when her nervousness regained its hold on her.

How she wished he would come! After his conversation with Cutler this afternoon Norrington had been completely altered. There was a dark shadow on his face that made her suspect he had just received dreadful news, but whenever she asked what it was that bothered him, he had always shaken his head.

As the minutes passed and Josephine grew more and more agitated. She waited passed the appointed time. She waited even until she would have had to hasten to make it to the ship in time, but to no avail. He simple wouldn't appear. Her fears finally became a certainty and she finally had to acknowledge her defeat. The disappointment ran deeper than she was willing to admit, but she didn't have any time to lose. Begrudgingly her feet started walking down the street towards the harbour.

She didn't get far. After a few meters she stopped. The expression on her face was baffled as if she, herself didn't know what she was doing. The young woman shook her head exasperatedly and forced herself to start walking again, but the endeavour turned out to be as fruitless as the first time. She let the duffle bag drop from her shoulder with a sigh.

How was this possible? Her hands slumped down at her sides in exasperation. She had wanted this so much, hoped and prayed for this moment and now that the prospect of being finally free was at her grasp, she let it simple slip away. Why, why, why? Josephine threw an accusatory glance in the direction from which she had come. The mansion was completely dark, except for one window which was emitting a warm shine. Some one was still awake at this hour of night. The contours of the light began to blur as tears rose in her eyes and it became a formless shimmering mass. She averted her head and quickly wiped her eyes with a brush of her hand.

She knew why she couldn't go, but didn't dare to say it or even think it at the moment. What had happened to her capability of acting rationally? How could she let someone affect her that deeply she only knew a couple of days? When she thought of him there was - apart from the feeling of indignation about the fact that he had failed to appear - something else she was having trouble defining. What she knew though was that it was deeply irrational, because it made her stomach flutter, her heart beat faster and it suspiciously resembled the state of euphoric inebriation.

Josephine's face fell, she dejectedly reached for her bag and slowly strode back towards the mansion. Behind her she could hear the bell tower strike twelve. The ship which was to be her escape into a new life, was now leaving the harbour.

She managed to somehow make it back to the house undetected. When she had closed the back door behind her, she leant against it for a couple of seconds and took a few calming breaths. Her hands reached to touch her face, which was surprisingly cool against the tips of her fingers, though she felt like she was burning up.

With a queasy feeling inside the pit of her stomach she crept up the stairs to the first floor and briefly cowered at the corner to see if she could safely proceed. She took a turn to the right, the opposite direction of where her room was, but that was not where she was headed anyway. At the next corner she stopped abruptly, because she heard footsteps approaching and the lowered voices of two men.

"Lord Beckett said till twelve o' clock. He won't try to escape now," she heard some one say.

"Your right. Where would he be going anyways?" another voice replied matter-of-factly.

Josephine pressed against the wall and held her breath, when the footsteps got louder. Two soldiers passed her. They carried a candle and were either too engrossed in conversation or too tired to see her. Which of the two reasons it ultimately was, resulted as comparatively unimportant to her, since she had managed to stay unnoticed. She quickly snug around that last corner and softly knocked at Norrington's door.

He opened a couple of seconds later. The expression on his face was utterly shocked, but there was something else apart from that, which she was not quite able to discern. Maybe relief? He was about to say something, but she shook her head and indicated the corridor behind her. He nodded at her grimly and motioned her to step inside.

"Miss Beckett….why?" Norrington asked as soon as the door had closed behind them, but due to his emotionally agitated state, he wasn't able to find the adequate words.

"I couldn't. I simply couldn't," Josephine said as if she was just realizing it herself. She let the duffle bag drop to the floor without even paying attention to it and sagged down on a chair.

He hadn't moved from his spot next to the door. He was still too baffled about her sudden appearance to speak, so he waited for her to explain - to tell him why she had chosen to return.

"I….oh God….I…," she started, but failed miserably. Her anger at her incapability of expressing herself had to find some outlet, so she reached for her hat, that had been part of her disguise and threw it across the room with a disdainful gesture.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't come, you see your brother he…he somehow found out about yesterday night. I presume it was the Captain who told him," he gulped heavily, when he saw the expression on her face change from angry to shocked. "He agreed to let you go if I stayed behind."

"So, that's why you didn't come?" her voice was trembling.

"Yes," he admitted finally. "He didn't leave me any choice. He even threatened to kill you if I tried to escape."

"Of course, a life for a life," her voice sounded hollow, strangely devoid of emotion, "So that's what my brother is capable of…I always suspected, but now I know," she let out an ironic laugh. "A life for a life. Yours for mine…that was a very stupid bargain you made there, James. You should have fled, while you still could."

The sound of his name as well as the choice of her words made him to look at her. There was sad smile on her face.

"As is returning, when it would have been so easy to start a new life, Josephine," he let out a resigned sigh.

The young woman laughed humourlessly and got to her feet, "Believe me, I found out on my way back that reason has nothing to do with this."

"Then why did you come back?" there was a velvety and very intense quality to his voice that had escaped her till now.

"I couldn't go…," Josephine stuttered and only now it occurred to her that she had stormed into his room, that it was the middle of the night and he was only clothed in a shirt and trousers. The whole situation was beyond promiscuous. She could feel her cheeks burning, but she ignored it. The look in his eyes compelled her to hold his gaze. Maybe it was the candlelight playing tricks on her imagination, because she thought she saw in his gaze something akin to deep fondness, possibly more.

"You've already said," he supplied softly.

"Yes, I know," she smiled at him shyly. "I don't know how to explain….While I was standing there waiting…I realized…," Josephine took a deep breath, "that I didn't want to leave without you. I don't know what has gotten into me…how….this has happened…what this means…"

He saw the hopeful look in her eyes, when she looked at him and part of him wanted nothing more than confess her his feelings, but a inner voice told him not to. That he would inevitably doom her to a fate she didn't deserve. She deserved happiness and all he had to offer was despair. He had nothing to give. There was no way out of this situation. He assumed Beckett had taken every possible precaution to make sure he wasn't able to escape. Though it would be relatively easy to get out of the house, they would still not be able to get out of Port Royal. The harbour would be heavily guarded and there was still Beckett's threat that he would kill Josephine. He could not risk that.

Beckett had promised he would let her go if he stayed behind…He didn't know if the other man could be trusted to keep the promises he made, but maybe if Josephine went alone she would have at least have a chance to escape.

Norrington fell silent for a few seconds, which didn't add to her reassurance. She was already thinking she might have offended him with her frankness, but then he finally started speaking.

"Josephine," there was a strained quality to his voice, "As sorry as I am to say this, but I think I am not worthy of your esteem…as I said the first time we talked, you don't know what kind of man I am, what your brother wants me to do. No matter what you have been told…you can't know."

"Well, then I'd suggest you tell me," Josephine said simply, while she tried to calm the turmoil of hopefulness, preoccupation and exasperation that was raging inside her chest.

"Does the name Davy Jones mean anything to you? Have you heard the stories about him?"

Josephine frowned, what did a mythical figure have to do with the situation at hand, "Yes, I think everybody has."

"I know that this will sound foolish, but you will have to trust my word on this. He's real. He's as real as you and me and your brother has his heart…."

"The means to control him…," she whispered.

"Yes."

"But how could he have gotten it? Isn't it supposed to be safely hidden away somewhere?" It was hard for her to believe him, but she tried.

"It was I who brought it to him. In exchange for my old life. You saw to what I was reduced, the kind of man I had become…"

"I could find anything wrong about you the first time I met you…," Josephine replied.

"Then your judgment about me was clearly too premature," he interrupted her.

"All I was thinking about was that I had to somehow re-establish my honour. So I didn't allow myself to see your brother for what he truly is – a cold-hearted, ruthless man, who wouldn't even shy away from killing his own sister."

"I realize now there is no way of undoing the happenings of the last three years. Things will never be the same," Norrington added regretfully.

"Of course, they won't. You're not the same man as you were three years ago."

"Yes…., but who am I then, Josephine?"

"That's a question only you can answer," she replied softly.

"There was I time when I could have answered that question easily. Back then I didn't know yet that my ambition was not only a fine quality that helped me achieve the things I wanted, but that it could also drive me into an obsession that would ruin me," he looked at her face despairingly. All he could find there was a patient understanding that coaxed the words right out of him. Deep down he knew they needed to be said, because each time he was able to verbalize some of the thoughts that had been tormenting him for so long, he felt relieved and yet terrified at the same time. The things he had discovered about himself in those long lonely night, drinking, despairing, became real and constituted a truth, that frightened him as did the rest of this new world that had been concealed underneath the one he thought he knew well.

"It was so easy then. So easy to tell right from wrong, but it appears I have lost my moral compass. The world had turned upside down. It's become a place were pirates are more honourable than English lords…." he shook his head as if he wasn't quite able to believe his own words. He had always been convinced he knew where he stood, that what he did was right, now he was even having trouble defining what the right thing was. What had become of him? Did not his selfish wish to re-establish his honour condemn him to be a villain? But who could tell right from wrong in the end, since it had become a matter of perspective, an intricate play of checkers in which the roles were constantly assigned anew.

"You see, Josephine, I'm not worthy of your esteem. I don't even know who I am anymore so I'm clearly not the kind of man you should settle for," his voice was almost imploring, as if he was afraid of something.

One of her delicate eyebrows arched ironically, "Settle for…," she repeated his words almost depreciatively. She unconsciously licked her lips before she continued, "I'm not settling for anything…Ever since I turned eighteen a lot of suitors have turned up at our doorstep, because they thought marrying into this family would be something desirable….but all I felt was…nothing, indifference. I thought there was something wrong with me, that I simply wasn't meant to experience something like that…., but what I feel for you is positively the absolute opposite of indifference."

She had been more frank with him than she had ever been with any other person. It seemed to be a special ability of his, a reaction he provoked inside of her, to actually make her say what she thought.

"I'd lie if I said I didn't have any feeling for you, Josephine…" his soft admission made her look at him in astonishment. She had not expected him to say something like that and much less did she understand the reaction his words provoked inside of her – a mixture of joyous excitement and fear.

However her hopes were quenched, when he continued, "…but I'm lost. I can't offer you anything."

"You're not lost," she wrinkled her forehead as if the taste of the words didn't suit her. "This is something different…it's change. It's just change. It would mean nothing if it wasn't hard."

"I don't like change."

"I can hardly hold that against you," Josephine threw him a shy smile, which he couldn't help but reciprocate. "I always wanted things to change and by God they have…I can never go back to the way things were and perhaps that suits me well since I spent every waking hour wishing I could somehow escape my old life. Now that I have, I have nowhere to go, but ahead…I'm forced to always keep moving, even though I don't know where my next step falls. There's no one to guide me, to help me with advice…I wish my father was here to tell me what to do…," her voice broke and she blinked rapidly to keep the tears out of her eyes. She was a brave person and wouldn't allow herself to show any frailty.

He surprised her with his next step. Without any hesitation he took her in his arms and she could feel her resolution slip from her step by step. His nearness, the solace of the physical contact made the walls she had erected crumble slowly. A tear trailed down her cheek. She quickly wiped it way with the back of her hand and let out a stifled laugh, "You see after all I'm just a woman."

"Not just a woman…quite a remarkable one, actually," his voice made his chest vibrate pleasantly.

After a long pause he finally started speaking again. "Josephine?"

"Yes?" the young woman raised her head to look at him expectantly.

"Would you object if…may I kiss you?"

"Yes," was all she managed to get out, over the loud drumming of her heart inside her ears.

She was standing so close he could smell her perfume, see her under lip quiver slightly, the golden shine of the candle light that reflected in her eyes. He knew if he didn't act now, the moment would pass and his chance would be gone. Hesitantly he pulled her closer. The intoxicating scent of her grew more intense, a mixture of lily, soap and something else he couldn't identify.

His lips brushed gently against hers. It was a very soft, almost featherlike caress. The sensation of his strong arms around her was rooting her to the ground while his innocent kiss made her feel weightless as if she could fly. Their lips separated briefly, then reunited again this time with more fervour. Her hands that rested on his back, unconsciously pulled him closer. Their closeness, the kiss, the multitude of pleasant feelings that flooded her consciousness combined and transformed into a pleasant warmth that spread through her entire body. She had never felt this way, yet she had never been kissed this way either. She had never been kissed at all, to be truthfully.

Their lips finally separated, though rather reluctantly. When she looked at him and there was this content expression on his face – a smile that spoke volumes of his affection towards her.

Josephine snuggled closer to lean her head against his shoulder, which she found to be a absolutely comfortable position. Her eyes were about to fall shut, when she suddenly had an interesting thought. They immediately snapped open again and she took a step back in bafflement.

"What's is it, Josephine?" James asked worriedly, "Is something wrong?"

"No, I think I might just have had an idea," she looked at him a little confusedly.

**Author's note**: _Thanks for the reviews, you guys. I was starting to wonder if someone was out there ;-) So be kind and leave a few lines. It's one of the things that helps me through the day..._


	7. Chapter 7

Josephine sat there in complete darkness. There was the occasional squeaking of a blank, the steps of heavy feet above her and the endless rushing of the sea. Always back and forth, back and forth. The ship had taken up this eternal rhythm, rocking gentle from one side to the other like a cradle.

The young woman leant her back against the cargo box behind her, her arms casually propped on her knees. She was sniffling a little and wiping her eyes with her hands. It felt like she had been crying for hours, at least she had done so till her eyes had started burning and the tears refused to come. After that she had sobbed quietly, her hand pressed over her mouth, so that no one would hear her.

This time she had been smart enough to not hire a passage, she had simply snug on board, while the sailors hadn't been watching. Davy Jones's ship had created a big enough distraction. The ripped sails, the strange creatures that were visible on deck, monsters, abominations of nature…that was where James was now. Unconsciously her fingers touched her lips on which she imagined she could still feel his good-bye kiss. She could feel the knot inside her stomach tighten, so she sternly told herself not to become sentimental. This would not have been the last time they had seen each other nor the last time they kissed. She had to be strong now. Find Turner and his fiancé Miss Swann. Find them, no matter what the cost. Find them.

Her point of departure would be Tortuga. What she knew about this place consisted of the information she had prodded out of merchants, Minzy and of course, the occasional unsuspecting soldier that guarded the mansion. The answer had been always the same, "It's no place for a young lady like you, Miss Beckett." That was probably why James had insisted she took a pistol with her. She hoped she would not need to fire it, that hopefully her disguise as a boy would protect her to some point. It could be as bad as everybody said.

Half a day later she had to revise her opinion. It was definitely as bad as everybody said, but at the same time it held a certain fascination. She had always asked herself how people would act if they were not coerced to behave as morals and etiquette told them to. Her considerations had been to the greatest part ironic, but now she couldn't find any humour in them being faced with the sheer reality of the situation. Was it really possible that the human animal was such a vile species, that drank, robbed and thought of nothing other than fornication. She was shocked, fascinated and appalled at the same time. Deep down, though she had to admit that a part of her actually liked that place, this little Sodom and Gomorra of the Caribbean. Those people here were truly free.

James had told her to go directly to the tavern, because it might be possible that someone there knew Will Turner and Miss Swann. She had laughed at him when he had pronounced the name Turner, it had sounded like he was referring to an infectious disease, not a man. A smirk briefly tugged at the corner's of her mouth, then it quickly disappeared again. Her hands vigorously pushed the entrance door open and she stepped inside.

The tavern basically consisted of a huge room, filled with drunken men and wenches who were there to keep the rum flowing. She soon realized that this setup had all the makings of a vicious circle, because she could see the hungry gazes the men threw at the only modestly covered bosoms of the women who were very eager to provided them with more alcohol, since they were not ready just yet to provide anything else.

Josephine took in her surrounding with the interest of someone who visits a museum. Over in the corner a fight was about to break loose so she should better hurry. She quickly dashed over to the bar and called for the bartender.

"What be the matter, matey?" the man's breath stank off rum. She immediately shrank back a couple of centimetres and politely tried not to flinch her nose, which was hard because of the stench of alcohol and his bad breath.

"I'm looking for a certain Will Turner or Captain Jack Sparrow, or better yet both. You didn't happen to see them per chance?"

"What are you boy? A spy of the East India Trading Company? We don't like no spies around here," the man glared at her, but the hostile expression on his face quickly died away, when he saw the hate in her eyes.

Josephine let out a bitter laugh, "You have no idea how much pleasure it would afford me if I could see every single ship of their fleet sink to the deepest depths of the sea." The venom that was audible in her voice could never have been the product of artifice.

"So, you're no spy then," he remarked dryly,"Good…..I'm not quite sure where Turner is, but maybe if you helped me a little I might be able to remember," he rubbed his thumb and his index finger together meaningfully.

"Do I look like I could pay you any money for that kind of information?" she squinted her eyes at him.

"Aye, you not only look it, you sound it and smell it, too," the man laughed and bared a set of rotten teeth at her.

"How much to help you remember?" she mumbled begrudgingly. She didn't like being bested, especially not by some smelly pirate with rotten teeth.

"That be three doubloons," he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Two," she glared at him from underneath the rim of her hat.

"Three."

"Alright then, three, but you will provide me with directions as well, are we clear on that?"

"Alright, matey, you'll be looking for Tia Dalma."

"Who on earth is Tia Dalma?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Will Turner stood at the veranda of the little crooked shack that was Tia Dalma's home. The expression on his face was unreadable, devoid of any emotion, as his brown eyes starred out into the swamp. Twilight had settled over the scenery and everything was by now reduced to hazy outlines and mysterious sounds. He stood there like a statue, only the constant rising and falling of his chest gave him away as a human being. His physical motionless state stood in sharp contrast to his inner feelings that were in deep agitation.

It had been four days since Jack was gone and he was itching to make himself useful. Tia Dalma wouldn't allow them to leave yet, the Gods only knew why and Elizabeth wouldn't talk to him. He suspected is was not so much that she didn't want to talk to him, she just didn't know what to say. He had seen her kiss Jack. The scene replayed over and over before his inner eye and every single time his mind provided him with new reasons to explain what it was he had witnessed there. At times the little voice inside his head, tried to convince him that Elizabeth had been compelled to act this way in order to save them, but what spoke against this theory was the dejected look on her face when they had arrived here. Other times, and those were the worst, he asked himself whether she had gotten bored with him. If he was not the man she needed – wanted. If their love had been just a passing fancy, because they had been both young…they were still young now, but much had changed. Maybe too much.

He wasn't able to continue further down that gruesome line of thoughts, perhaps he was even lucky his musing had been disrupted. There was a single boat approaching the shack, clearly recognizable in the dark, thanks to flickering lantern that lit its way. Will left his post and stepped inside the hut.

Tia Dalma was rummaging through her collection of strange objects and jars filled with all kinds of bizarre substances and things. As usually she seemed to be oblivious to his presence, but when it came to her one could never know. That she didn't look, didn't necessarily mean she wasn't aware of his presence.

"There is a boat coming this way," he announced, after clearing his throat hadn't managed to attract her attention.

"Already? Shouldn't wonder…those people are always on time," the voodoo priestess muttered to herself.

William had stopped to question her logic and also her enigmatic way of expressing herself, still he wondered whether this boat presented a potential threat, so he decided to press the matter for once, "Whose coming?"

"Da student, child. Da student," the woman finally turned around and merited him with a lop-sided smile, allowing him a generous glance at her blackened teeth.

Meanwhile Josephine had debarked and tied her little boat to the wooden footbridge that lead to Tia Dalma's shack. The sultriness of the swamp and the exertion of rowing had convinced her to give up her masquerade. She had taken off her jacket and thrown away her hat, so that she now was only clothed in shirt and trousers. Sweat was glistening on her forehead and her black hair had curled thanks to the humidity.

The air seemed to be buzzing with midges and all sorts of insects. She had stopped counting the itching red spots on her skin by now. Not without a certain amount of satisfaction she smacked one of those bothersome bloodsuckers, just as it landed on her upper arm. Ouch! She immediately regretted it afterwards. A slight sunburn, which was now blissfully beginning to fade into a tan, had tinted her skin red and made it particularly sensitive. The outline of her hands was briefly visible on her skin, then disappeared again. With a huff she blew her hair out of her face and started her way towards the hut.

She hesitated briefly before she crossed the step, but then made up her mind and entered. "Tia Dalma?" she called out questioningly into the seemingly empty shack. "Anyone there?"

Josephine heard somebody rummage in the back of the hut so she curiously advanced a little further into the room and came to a halt in the middle of it. With childlike fascination her eyes absorbed her surroundings. Jars of all sizes were hanging from the ceiling. She stepped closer to one of them and her mouth dropped in wonder, when she recognized its contents to be a tongue. It was not human, of that she was sure, because it was too big. Maybe it once belonged to an oxen or pig. Josephine tapped against the glass with her nail and the liquid inside of it briefly started wobbling. The next one contained some sort of dried algae. She squinted her eyes and stepped closer to scrutinize the glass more thoroughly. Then she heard a movement behind her, a rustle of clothes, the squeaking of a footboard.

The young woman whirled around and came face to face with a black woman who was smiling at her mischievously. The shock that spread through her body thanks to her unexpected appearance mixed with utter astonishment, because Josephine suddenly had the strange feeling that this meeting had predestined all along.

"T…Tia Dalma?" Josephine managed to stutter.

The other woman just nodded quizzically and walked over to a huge wicker chair that suspiciously resembled a throne, on which she took a seat with a graceful movement. She looked at Josephine in a way that gave her the impression she was somehow put to a test.

"I came here looking for Will Turner," the young woman managed to get out.

"Nah, you be looking for something else child," Tia Dalma shook her head with majestic dignity.

"I….am I?" Josephine was startled. She hadn't been expecting that, but she quickly caught herself, "Very well, enlighten me, what is it I am looking for then?"

"Your place in this world," the voodoo priestess told her quizzically.

"That's merely a description of the human condition in general," the young woman raised her eyebrows cynically. So far she wasn't impressed.

"For you it's more difficult than for most, child. You is stuck between to worlds, the past and the future. Your heart be of the past" she chuckled to herself and made a graceful gesture with her hands which looked almost like a wave. "And your mind of the future."

Josephine gulped heavily. Tia Dalma's description of her character was unsettling her, "For now I'd just settle for finding Mr. Turner, if you please."

The other woman let out an amused laugh, "That be the easiest part of it , Josephine."

At her words a handsome young man stepped inside the room. There was something gentle, about him yet at the same time there seemed to be a rather melancholic streak to his character as well. Josephine couldn't tell what exactly it was that gave away that impression, maybe it was his eyes.

So that was the infamous Will Turner, not like James had described him, which didn't surprised her at all. She wouldn't necessarily call this young man plain, but James couldn't exactly be blamed for not being objective in that matter. At the thought of him she felt an unpleasant sting and she had to bring up a huge amount of willpower not to let her emotions show in her face.

"Who are you and why are you looking for me?" Turner had a pleasant voice, she had to give him that. The fact that she already knew more about him than he did about her, gave her the slight feeling of superiority.

She briefly considered whether she could give him a false name, but then decided against it, "I'm Josephine Beckett."

"Beckett as in Lord Cutler Beckett?" Will Turner looked at her in amazement.

"Exactly. And before you're going to ask. I'm not daft, I know that some people might consider me a valuable hostage if they wanted to settle a score with my brother…., but I can assure you that this would be a rather pointless endeavour, since Cutler himself has recently threatened to murder me," she raised her chin in defiance.

"He didn't go through with his plan apparently. So, what is it that you want from me then?"

"A couple of days ago a certain James Norrington brought my brother Davy Jones's heart," she let the information drop with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Josephine knew very well that Turner had sworn to kill Davy Jones, in order to free his father from the cursed sailor's clutches. "He must not be allowed to wield that much power. Cutler, as unpleasant as it may be to admit for me, has no sense of morals what so ever…"

"So you just came here to tell me this out of the goodness of your heart?" Turner raised an eyebrow.

"No, I came here, because I have to settle a score with my brother and I think you do as well, after all he held your fiancé prison and threatened to hang you."

"What do you suggest?"

"That you bring me to Captain Jack Sparrow as fast as possible."

The young man let out a bitter laugh, "I fear you're four days too late, Miss Beckett. Jack is dead."

Josephine's heart sank at that information. Jack Sparrow had been a substantial part of her plan. Now that the tables had turned so suddenly she wasn't quite sure what to do anymore. She was quickly tumbling towards despair, but the voice of Tia Dalma spared her from that faith.

"Dead, but not lost, Will," the woman interjected and thereby directed their attention back to her.

"We can't save him unless you allow us to finally set sails," the frustration was clearly audible in the young man's voice.

"But now you can. Now your crew be finally complete," the voodoo priestess grinned contently and leant comfortably back in her chair, while she enjoyed the baffled looks on their faces.

"Set sails to go where?"

"We're supposed to take her?


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: **Thanks for the feedback, you guys! I'm really glad you like this...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shortly after Josephine made the acquaintance of the strangely assorted group of individuals to which William Turner referred to as the crew. Tia Dalma observed the meeting from her place in the wicker chair interestedly.

To start off there was Mr. Gibbs a stout, red-cheeked Englishman with a booming voice and a strange old man who went by the name of Cotton. The parrot on his shoulder persistently repeated the phrase "When do we set sails?" as if it were a mantra.

Next she was introduced to Captain Barbossa, a man whose demeanour and appearance betrayed a substantial amount of devious intelligence. He had a monkey sitting on his shoulder, whose little sparkling eyes scrutinized her with the same curiousity as did his owner's. Barbossa took off his feathered hat in a gallant gesture and indicated a courtesy. Her senses had been honed by living in London's high society for most of her adult life, where duplicity was the pitfall of every conversation and pretence a very high developed form of art, so she wasn't fooled by his polite manners. Nevertheless there was something about him that inspired sympathy and she found herself smiling at him almost inadvertently. Maybe it was a sign of respect - a tribute two great actors had to pay to each other eventually, whenever they met on this great stage called life.

"And this is Miss Elizabeth Swann," William Turner finally concluded. The two woman eyed each other wordlessly for a while, then Elizabeth extended her hand to Josephine with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She looked weary, as if she had been through a lot these last couple of days.

Josephine took her outstretched hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. There was something that she had been wanting to tell her ever since she had seen her take the letters of Marque from her brother. Maybe now was not the right moment or perhaps this was just the right moment to finally say it. Ere she could make up her mind about the appropriateness of her behaviour, the words had already left her mouth, "You probably don't know who I am, but I simply have to tell you how much I admire you for being as courageous as to actually stand up to Beckett like that. It must have required a lot of strength."

"Thank you," Elizabeth replied with a bittersweet smile, blinking her eyes rapidly. Unbeknownst to Josephine her words had ripped open a fresh wound that hadn't even begun to heal. Elizabeth would have well been able to do without that strength, the other woman praised so highly, because it was the reason that had cost Jack Sparrow his life. Her strength and her ability to deceive. Again Elizabeth's thoughts threatened to turn into an endless chain of self-accusations, but Will's voice mercifully brought her back to the present. This was the only act of kindness he had shown her in the last few day and though it had been committed unintentionally, she was thankful for it.

"You might already wondered who our guest here is," William indicated Josephine with a gesture of his hand and the young woman couldn't help but blush when she felt at least a dozen eyes on her. She hated being put on the spot. "Well, this is Miss Josephine Beckett."

The reaction to her name was even less to Josephine's liking. Gibbs whistled to his teeth, she heard someone muttered a swearing word and even Mister Cotton's parrot seemed to look at her strangely.

"I'm sure Miss Beckett's good name will help us sail around a few cliffs on the way," Barbossa remarked with a snide grin.

"I'm afraid my good name isn't even worth a single doubloon, Mr. Barbossa. My brother Cuttler couldn't care less for my well-being, but I in turn care even less for his. All my sisterly affections have turned into something very close to dislike, since he tried to murder me," Josephine quipped back ere William Turner could answer in her place.

"How unfortunate! The makings of a Greek tragedy, Miss Beckett…And by the way, it's Captain Barbossa," he remarked with a substantial amount of irony and a sugary sweet smile.

"A Greek tragedy with a little twist. My brother has managed to get his clutches on Davy Jones's heart. Therefore I think that my interest and your interest might actually coincide." Josephine watched him taxingly, when she uttered those words. A muscle in his jaw briefly twitched at the mention of Davy Jones's name, besides that there was no reaction on his face.

"Did you notice the strange coincidence?" William remarked sarcastically, "Our friend Norrington disappears and a couple of days later Beckett has Davy Jones's heart," he shot Elizabeth a pointed glance.

"What do you look at me for! You didn't see him, how me miserable he was. I couldn't have possibly left him there. He was as drunk as a fish and then even managed to get himself into a bar fight. If it wasn't for me he would have probably gotten himself killed," the young woman tried to defend herself.

"It would have probably been for the better," it was clearly visible that Elizabeth was taken aback by William's harsh choice of words.

"I can't believe you wouldn't have felt any compassion for him. He was lying there... in the mud... next to the pigs. It was just the decent thing to do. After all we owe him…in a way," Josephine could hear William answer something, but she was quite able to discern the actual words. Her mind was still occupied with processing the information she had just received. Unbeknownst to her, while she was engrossed in her own private thoughts, the arguing voices quickly increased in number as well as in volume. Undoubtedly the discussion would have continued on for a while, had not Tia Dalma decided to finally speak up.

"Silence!" her voice boomed through the room with unnatural force, so that even the jars above their heads seemed to vibrate anxiously. Her call hadn't missed its purpose. Everybody fell silent at once and all heads immediately turned in her direction. "Much better," she smiled in her characteristic manner that usually contained a substantial amount of irony and mischief.

William was the first to recover from his surprise and cleared his throat somewhat embarrassedly, before he finally decided to speak, "Alright, let's direct our attention back towards more pressing matters, shall we? The crew is now finally complete…since Tia claims that Miss Beckett's presence is absolutely required in this, we will take her with us," he eyed her with a glance that spoke volumes of his reluctance to let her join them, "There's still one problem we've got to solve. We don't have a ship. How are we suppose to sail as far as the End of the World without a ship?"

"There's still Port Royal…," Gibbs remarked innocently.

"You're better not suggesting what I think you are," Elizabeth exclaimed, "That's plain suicide!"

"It's the next haven around. I don't fancy even you being able to walk over water, Elizabeth. No offence, but the way to Tortuga's a bit far and I don't think I can hold me breath that long," the sailor's mood had turned sour, after four days of sitting around idly, without being able to help his friend Jack.

"You're right, Gibbs. There's no other way," William agreed, for which Elizabeth threw him an angry glance. The tension between them was palpable.

"We'd have to be stealthy," Gibbs supplied, rubbing his bearded chin pensively.

"…And you'd have to provide a distraction. Anyway it doesn't need much to distract a Navy Officer nowadays, they've gotten quite sloppy, because they are thinking they are now absolutely invulnerable thanks to the power my brother wields," Josephine interjected.

"How'd you know?" William inquired.

"Well, I managed to escape from there, didn't I?" Josephine shrugged her shoulders.

"A valid point," William agreed with a strange tone in his voice. The excited look in his eyes was the indication of a plan in the makings.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm not going to wear this dress. Why don't you ask Elizabeth to do it?" Josephine shook her head indignantly, while William held out the bone of contention to her in the twilight. It rustled derisively at her.

"Do you know how to wield a sword?" the young man asked exasperatedly.

"No," she admitted begrudgingly.

"Can you fire a pistol?"

"If someone showed me…"

"That means no, too. See that's why you're wearing the dress."

"We haven't got all day, Missy," Gibbs hissed at her from somewhere in the shadow.

Josephine looked around imploringly searching for some sympathy at least from Elizabeth, but she just shrugged her shoulders at her apologetically. "It's not my size anyway. I'm sorry."

"Alright," she ripped the dress out of his hands. Why on earth did she have the impression he was not going to cut her some slack? "Where do I change?" Josephine asked gruffly.

He indicated the back of the blind alley in which they hid and even in the darkness she could see the white sparkle of his teeth as he grinned at her.

Josephine mumbled something about indecency while she trotted further down the alley, until she felt save enough - well, as save as one could feel with the knowledge of three men standing nearby – to slip out of her clothes. The night breeze felt chill against her skin and she briefly shuddered, which encouraged her to hasten. In a matter of minutes she had managed to slip into the dress, which was quite remarkable since it was laced up on the back. 'Practice makes perfect,' she thought sarcastically as she made her way back to the group, feeling very thankful that the darkness protected her from being seen for now. She suspected this dress didn't leave much to the imagination.

"Finally," her presence was acknowledged by Gibbs.

"Try lacing up a dress all by yourself," she bit back.

"You've got my sympathies," Elizabeth answered somewhere in the dark.

"Thanks," Josephine responded more peaceably.

"So, everything goes down as planned," William admonished them again. They had been through the plan several times by now, apparently he thought it didn't suffice. No matter how often she heard it, it still didn't sound good in her hears. "Josephine and Barbossa, you two are going down to the dock to provide the necessary distraction. Give us the signal, when everything is ready. Alright?"

"Aye," she muttered sourly and hesitantly crept out of the shadows, followed by her partner in crime.

The young woman looked down at herself wearily. The cleavage was even deeper than she had feared and the lacing made her breasts look bigger than they were, which was apparently its task. She self-consciously tugged at the dress. "I look like a bloody harlot," the swearing word sounded strange as it slipped from her tongue.

"Well, we're lucky then, because that was what you were supposed to look like, wasn't it?" Barbossa grinned, flashing her a set of yellow teeth.

"Give me the basket will you?" she said sourly. He wordlessly handed it to her and she briefly inspected its contents, then nodded contently.

The strange pair made its way down to the dock, where the Enterprise lay calmly rocking back and forth on the drift. With each step they got closer to their destination her nervousness increased. The loud clacking of her heels, announced their presence irreparably. Josephine was not sure whether she could go through with the plan, but now she had to.

It wasn't like she had never flirted in her life, but in London one flirted in a rather subtle way, with downcast eyes and blushing cheeks. She suspected her disguise required slightly more extrovert behaviour, especially if she wanted to get on board of the ship.

There was no turning back, because the two Navy Officers, guarding the ship, had already spotted them and beamed an eager smile in her direction. She could feel their eyes all over her body and couldn't help but feel dirty.

She forced a smile on her face, while she whispered through clenched teeth at Barbossa, "I don't know if I can pull this off. I don't even know what to say…"

"I assume you are a well read woman, Miss Josephine. Think Chaucer, Lucrezia Borgia, whatever… just try not to ruin the plan," he hissed back.

A couple of seconds later they had arrived at their destination. Showtime! Josephine hesitated briefly, but a voice inside her head told herself sternly to remember why she was doing all this and for whom. The young woman gulped heavily, then decided to cross the line, drawn by modesty and pride. She ran a trembling hand through her hair and then flicked it back across her shoulder, so that the men could see her slender, slightly tanned neck.

"Hello, boys!" Josephine managed to conceal the nervousness in her voice successful. Pretence was something she was quite familiar with, unlike the art of seduction.

"Hello, beautiful," one of the soldier responded and looked her over hungrily. "What you're doing out this hour of the night?"

"Looking for company," Josephine smiled suggestively, though inside of her every fibre of her being recoiled.

"Lucky there's us then," the other soldier replied who had so far remained silent. Maybe he was the bright one of the bunch. At least the question he posed seconds later indicated as much, "Who's the fellow with you?"

"Him?" Josephine looked over at her companion innocently. "He's only my protector. Not all men are as honourable as you fine gentlemen."

She stepped closer and let her hand glide down the revers of the soldier's uniform seductively. "Did I mention that I like men in uniform?" This was a flat out lie. She had always found those uniform a tad bit exaggerate. They were like dress-up. Nevertheless her insincere flattery achieved its purpose. A goofy smile appeared on the soldier's face.

"What do you have in your basket?" the other one inquired out of curiosity or maybe the sole purpose of his words was to direct back her attention at him.

Her lips formed a perfect pink 'oh' at his question. "Just a little something to make you lighten up," she let them sneak a peak at the bottles of rum, "Something to make sure we'll have a good time."

The man licked his lips and when his eyes fell on the bottles of liquor, she thought she could see the beginnings of an inner struggle on his face. A part of her was starting to enjoy the power she had over those man. Josephine discovered that it actually required a comparatively small effort to make them do what she wanted: a suggestive smile, a sway of her hips, a deep gaze into their eyes…What managed to astonish her even further was the fact that she didn't even feel guilty, because of the way she behaved. It was like a intricate play, that excited her, though she knew it was only make believe, yet somehow it was very real, because she was starting to realize she was not playing a part, but rather discovering a new side of herself.

"My name's Josie. What's yours darling?" she purred seductively.

"I'm Jim and this handsome fellow over there is Hank," the soldier told her with a goofy grin.

"Say, Jim….this may sound a little bit funny….but, well, I've never been on board of a ship before," Josephine said innocently while she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. "There wouldn't be any chance…you know…," she finished the sentence of with a sweet smile.

The man practically squirmed under her eyes, "Well, actually we're not supposed to," he threw a nervous glance over to his comrade, "Regulations and all, but a nice girl like you certainly wouldn't make any trouble."

"Oh, that's so very sweet of you, boys," Josephine cooed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note: **Just a wee little tidbit, this chapter. A bit dark at the end - finally fluff minimisation. Let's hope I'll manage to keep it up for a little while ;-)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It turned out that Jim and Hank were eager to show her around the Enterprise and they didn't even object to Barbossa accompanying her. He had kept discretely in the background and she harboured the suspicion that he was immensely enjoying the show she put on. On board she made the acquaintance of Charles and Edward, two other Navy Officers. It wasn't too hard to convince that drinking on duty wasn't such a bad thing.

That night she learned two things about mankind. First: the human species wasn't as superior as it liked to claim and second: men reacted to certain signals a woman sent out. She had once believed, like most of her contemporaries, that reason dominated man's actions, but tonight she experienced something that disproved this theory. It was a simple equation of cause and effect. A smile from her made them say silly things and behave foolishly.

She watched them coolly as they took swing after swing from their bottles and dived deeper and deeper into inebriation. Josephine would have lied if she had said she didn't feel any sympathy for them. As a matter she did. They were very lonely men. As she was told, some of them had just arrived from England to strengthen the number of the garrison. They were far away from their country, from their families and just looking for something familiar to hold on to in this strange new world. The sweet deceiving masque, briefly slipped from her face, but no one noticed, because they were already too drunk at this point.

Josephine motion Barbossa, who stood behind her, to come closer with a gesture of her hand. "Is this really necessary?"

"Scruples, Miss Beckett? At this point? Don't you think it be a little too late for that?" she didn't have to turn around to know there was a derisive smile on his face. The tone of his voice sufficed to make her sure of it.

She remained silent and just stared ahead, unable to answer his questions. Like a malicious little voice inside her head he continued talking, "The question is not whether you've got scruples, Josephine, but whether your will is strong enough to go through with the plan. I don't presume to know your motivations, but whatever it is that you want, you should ask yourself if you want it enough."

"I want it very much," the young woman said after a brief moment of hesitation. The flickering light of the candle threw a warm light on her expressionless face, while the laughter of the four oblivious men sounded over the deck.

"Good girl, now go and get the others," he ordered.

Josephine got to her feet slowly, but before she walked away she turned around to look at him sternly, "Are you an honourable man, Barbossa?"

"Honour…is a quality a man with ambitions shouldn't cling to too rigorously," he looked at her taxingly.

"I know you are capable of murder," she told him straight to the face. "But don't do it this time."

"Why?" he towered over he superiorly, his head cocked to the side.

"It would be an unnecessary act of cruelty and it would make you sink in my regard."

"So you think I care about your opinion of me!" he raised his chin challengingly. "Need I really remind you? I'm a pirate, Missy."

"Do you honestly think that they will remember our faces tomorrow! They spend more time ogling my breasts then looking me in the eyes," she gesticulated exasperatedly, pointing at the four men who could hardly managed to keep upright in their chairs anymore.

Barbossa let out an amused laugh, "And who could blame them….," when she glared at him angrily, he raised his hands defensively, "Alright, Miss Beckett, I relent to your reasoning, just this once."

"Your hand on that," she held out hers and looked at him challengingly. He stared at her sourly, but finally shook it. Her fingernails dug painfully into his skin in the process, he grimaced, but still didn't let go. "I think that will help you remember your promise until I return," Josephine told him in a cold voice. When she withdrew her hand there were four red crescent shaped markings on his palm.

Barbossa watched her walk away with a grin. He liked the girl. Unlike Miss Swann she truly had a dark streak to her character which made him wonder just how far exactly she was willing to go in order to get what she wanted.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note: **Thanks for the reviews, you guys (Please, keep them coming). I'm absolutely thrilled you like my story!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James Norrington hadn't slept in two days. Everything he perceived always was a little bit too bright, too harsh, too loud. At night this sudden acuteness of reality dimished. It was then that he felt most comfortable, because most of the crew rested, which afford him the opportunity to safely walk the deserted deck and hang after his own private thoughts.

He stood at the railing and watched out on the sea. The moon tinted the scenery in an odd bluish colour that almost seemed artificial. With a sigh he rubbed the bridge of his nose and his tense shoulders dropped slightly as some of the tension that dominated his every waking hour left him. During daytime he was always watchful, always careful not to provoke with an unguarded gaze or to show any kind of frailty. It was a difficult task, since the outward appearance of many crewmen certainly provoked an incredulous stare.

When he had first come face to face with Davy Jones he had recoiled inwardly. The tentacles that formed his beard were constantly in motion like the serpents on Medusa's head. His face only bore dim vestiges of human features. His nose had vanished, so that his severe mouth and his eyes dominated his countenance.

"What does this mean? How dare you step foot on my ship!" Davy Jones had thundered angrily, right after Norrington had gone on board at Port Royal. The whole crew had been watching the interchange between their captain and the new arrival interestedly with their weapons poised.

After a brief moment of hesitation he had managed to answer. His voice had remained calm - a fact which had baffled even himself, "I was sent by the man who has summoned you."

"He couldn't come himself, eh? Had to send his puppet?" he had eyed Norrington disdainfully who had stood there unflinchingly in his impeccable uniform.

"Don't mistake me for something I'm not," James had replied with a calm air, while his inner nervousness had only been betrayed by the quick raising and falling of his chest. "My role in this is not very different from yours, I'm forced to do something I don't want."

The monster had looked at him interestedly, "It's hard to believe you came on board out of your own accord, I agree. Still, tell me one good reason I shouldn't kill you on the spot."

James had smiled humourlessly. He had been prepared for this threat, "I can even provide you with two."

"Lucky you," Davy Jones had interjected sarcastically.

He had continued seemingly unimpressed, "Firstly, I know who it is that controls you and I will only give away his name in exchange for my safety. Secondly, since you can't dispose of him yourself, I would be willing and able to accomplish this task for you, come the time."

Davy Jones had looked at him interestedly, "I see you haven't undertaken this mission light-heartedly, young man, but have you considered that there are other means by which I could extract the name from you," his left hand, that had the from of a crustacean like claw had come dangerously close to James's face, "Torture…There are ways to make you talk."

"I'm not afraid of death," Norrington had declared bravely, though he knew this to be a flat out lie. The statement might have been true a couple of days ago, but since then a lot had changed.

"Don't insult me with lies," Davy Jones's eyes had sparkled at him dangerously. "There's one thing I know for sure: every living thing desperately clings to life."

"Nevertheless I will never give you the name," his hands had balled to fists at his side.

"What is it that makes you act so bravely, young man? Honour? No, there could be only one thing to make a reasonable man act so foolishly….Love," he had spat out the last word with contempt.

"Whatever my reasons be," there had been a traitorous tremble in his voice, "you will not get the name unless I think it's time."

Davy Jones had leant closer so that his terrible face hovered only inches from James's. He had almost thought he could feel the touch of one of his tentacles on his skin. The smell of algae and fish had invaded his nostrils. A shiver had run down his back, nevertheless he hadn't flinched back.

"I can see you're not joking. So you may live…for now."

So that was how he was living - with a death threat hovering constantly over his head. In his darkest hours he tried to convince himself that even this would pass and there would be other times, when this would only be an unpleasant memory. Somehow he always liked to imagine that she would be with him then. He tried to envision her, but though only a couple of days had passed, he couldn't recall exactly what she looked like. Details had managed to stick in his head; however he never quite managed to join them to a complete picture – a fact which frustrated him immensely.

There was one thing about her, though, he remembered with absolute clarity. He was having trouble putting it in words, let alone formulating coherent thoughts in order to understand it. The attempt to analyze it seemed to boarder on impossible.

Upon meeting a stranger for the first time, everybody quite naturally forms a preliminary judgement. It is always entirely irrational and purely based on instinct, since you don't get to know the person properly. You only get a short glimpse of what they are like. He had met people he detested on sight, others whose company he found quite pleasant immediately. This intuitive feeling of knowing her character, of deep familiarity was always present, whenever he spent time with Josephine

There was something characteristic about Josephine that manifested in everything she did and made her unique. No other person could be like that. It was like she projected a part of her essence, of who she truly was, outward, so that it became almost tangible. Somehow, maybe thanks to his instinct, intuition or whatever it was, he was able to sense it. It was warm, in a way familiar. Like laughter after there had been stern silence for too long. It sounded even rubbish in his own ears. He let out a dry laugh. He should probably never try to verbalize those thoughts to her, since they always sounded so ludicrous, but that was how he remembered her.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Josephine had discovered in the last couple of days that living on board of a ship wasn't easy. No one around her treated her like she was used to. Elizabeth mostly kept to herself, William was sulking constantly and Mr. Gibbs only communicated with her, when he was barking out orders. When it came to the workload, she was conveniently regarded as an equal and therefore responsible for fulfilling certain tasks on board of the ship. They were only eight - Tia Dalma had insisted on accompanying them, but no one would have even dared to ask her to raise a finger – and so every single hand was needed. She had quickly learned what starboard and portside were, right after Gibbs had yelled at her a couple of times, there were blisters on her palms that stemmed from pulling the hawsers to adjust the rig. Her arms ached thanks to the physical exertion she was not used to, but she never complained and just silently did as she was told.

At the end of the day she crawled up in her bunk, but was never able to fall asleep straight away. She lay there motionlessly as thoughts drifted through her consciousness uncontrollably. Often they were incoherent fragments of what Josephine had experienced in the past weeks that needed to be put together in order to make any sense.

Within a relative short period of time she had been forced to grow up. Until the death of her father she had still been the daughter, a young woman on the brink of adulthood, merely twenty. It was not a question of aging physically, but rather a change of attitude. She had been suddenly forced to stand on her own and deal with the excruciating experience of death of a loved one all by herself.

Her father had died. It had not been the first time some one in her family died. When she was a child, an old an sickly aunt of hers passed away. She could remember going to her funeral, observing in childlike wonder the strange ritual of crying relatives and stern faces. Of course, she could not have been much older than ten back then. Grieve had been a concept she had not been able to grasp fully at that time, but now she understood.

After the first sadness had subsided, after she did no longer cry herself asleep every night, she had entered a different stage of grieving of which she suspected it would last a lifetime. It was a rather treacherous feeling. It made her wake up in the morning like everything was perfectly normal, ready to go about her day as usual, but then realization came. This epiphany was cruel, because it made her realize once again there was a hole in her life. The fragile fabric spun out of social relations consisting of family, friends – just basically loved ones - was no longer what it used to be, because a crucial part was missing. A person she loved. Like a déjà-vu this moment of realization repeated over and over again. Mostly when she was absolutely unsuspecting.

Josephine turned in her bed to make these thoughts disappear, but she managed to chase them away only partly. James…she wondered what he was doing right now. If he was well…Oh God, how she wished he was, because if he wasn't, none of this made any sense. Every day started with her conscious decision to do this. Each morning she decided anew to endure the suspicious gazes she was thrown by the others, to go through with the plan she had come up, to endanger her life for what she truly wanted. So in the end the truth was that each day started with her conscious decision for him. Maybe it was a sign of insanity she chose to act this way or something very close to insanity. It was like hitting your head hard against a wall and hoping that the stones would crumble instead of breaking your skull.

She let out a frustrated huff, realizing that it was a waste of time trying to fall asleep. On tip toes she made her way through the bowels of the ship, trying not to wake anyone. When she stepped out on deck the cool night air and the calming rush of the sea welcomed her.

Josephine walked towards the railing, but as she approached she noticed another person standing there. It was Elizabeth. The other woman had never been unfriendly to her, but that would have been a rather difficult thing to do, since she had barely talked in the last couple of days. Josephine instinctively made a step back, hoping that she might still be able to escape ere she would be noticed.

"Please, stay," Elizabeth turned her head to look at her from over her shoulder and threw her a sad little smile.

So it was too late to take flight. Josephine grimaced slightly, but obeyed Elizabeth's wish nevertheless. It wasn't that she didn't like her, but she always felt self-conscious in her company. Josephine had the strong suspicion that had offended her by praising her courage the other day. Judging from Elizabeth's reaction to her words, she hadn't been particularly pleased by what she had said.

"I'm sorry if I've offended you the other day. I didn't mean to," she said finally after they had spent a while standing next to each other wordlessly.

Elizabeth hesitated briefly before she answered, as if she had trouble recalling the incident Josephine was referring to, "I wasn't…offended. It's just, well….ever since Jack died I can't help but feel…guilty."

"Guilty?" Josephine turned her head to look at Elizabeth. She was an attractive woman, but one could tell that she had spent the last couple of nights worrying instead of sleeping thanks to the telltale dark circles under her eyes.

"You don't know, do you?" the other woman let out an ironic laugh.

"How should I know? No one on this ship talks to me except for Tia or Barbossa. So I can choose between enigmatic ramblings or a battle of wits. Either can be exhausting after a while," Josephine said with a hint of accusation in her voice.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you felt that way…I didn't even notice…I guess I was simply too self-absorbed… We've all been a bit beside ourselves, lately," Elizabeth's voice sounded genuinely embarrassed.

"What happened?"

"Have you ever been in love, Josephine?" Elizabeth suddenly asked out of the blue, instead of answering her question.

Josephine didn't know whether she felt friendly enough towards Elizabeth to share something this personal with her, but as usually her mouth was quicker than her mind. Maybe it was because she had had to hold her tongue in check for so many years, "Just once."

Elizabeth nodded silently at her answer.

"I was going to marry Will," she added after a while

"So I've heard."

"I was wearing my dress, waiting for him at the altar…it rained, so all the other guests had already left," there was a faraway quality to her voice, "When he didn't appear I knew something terrible must have happened, because I knew he loved me and nothing could have kept him from me…Back then I was so sure it was him."

"And now you're not anymore?"

"I've known Will since I was about ten. We were best friends until my father admonished me to remember I was the Governor's daughter and had to behave like a lady. So I obeyed and kept my distance. It was about the time he started calling me Miss Swann, which I never liked," a wistful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I knew he fancied me and prayed he would finally find the courage. When he finally did one day and I felt ecstatic."

Josephine listened patiently. She didn't succumb to the delusion that Elizabeth told her all this because she suddenly regarded her as a friend. They knew each other too little for that, but she understood that it was something the young woman had to get off her chest. She could sympathize with her, so she remained quite and listened.

"When I first met Captain Jack Sparrow, I thought him to be the most vile man on earth, but in spite of…well, everything…he turned out to be a good man," she sighed, "He's a trickster. It's kind of funny actually…," the dry laugh that followed indicated that it was indeed everything other than funny, "ultimately it was I who was the better deceiver of the two of us. Back at the Pearl the kraken was only after him, it wanted him not us….so what was I to do? I couldn't let anything happen to the others…so I…I kissed him and handcuffed him to the mast. He never had a chance," she rubbed her eyes with her hands as if she was tired, but the glistening tears that shone in them didn't escape Josephine's notice.

"You're blaming yourself," the young woman concluded softly. "You shouldn't."

"I'm not only blaming myself for what I did, but for what I felt," Elizabeth lowered her head, "It wasn't just a kiss. I never…Will doesn't kiss me that way…"

"Do love Sparrow?"

"I don't know," Elizabeth's response was barely audible.

"Oh, dear!" Josephine finally said in a small voice.

"Yes, that sums it up quite nicely," the other woman looked at her sadly. "You don't happen to be able to give me some advice, do you?"

"I wouldn't necessarily call myself an expert when it comes to love," Josephine sighed and looked at Elizabeth sympathetically. The expression in her eyes was almost imploring, so she felt constrained to say something consoling, "The only advice I can give you is perhaps…try to be honest with yourself…and above all with William. I don't know him all too well, but I think he would very much like you to talk to him."

"I know. I just don't know what to tell him."

"The truth can be very unpleasant at times, but it's always better on the long run."

"You're probably right, but I can't… not just yet."

"I fear my advice was not particularly helpful…"

"It is good advice," Elizabeth assured her softly, "and I'm very glad you listened."

"You're very welcome," Josephine replied. After that they just stood next to each other at the railing looking out at the sea in companionable silence.


	11. Chapter 11

"Eh, Josephine! Where have you been loitering about?" Gibbs called out to her accusingly. Josephine was just coming from the kitchen, where she had spent about an hour, peeling potatoes. Her eyes were reddened and swollen and since she hadn't been cutting onions, it was quite obvious she had been crying, but Gibbs didn't notice. He could care less for her feelings. Apparently his callousness had also caused him to forget that he had been him who he sent her to galley in the first place.

The sound of the sailor's voice was always unpleasant to her ears, because it usually meant more work. She flinched, but reluctantly answered, "What is it, Mr. Gibbs?"

"The Captain wants you," he said gruffly. Josephine had started suspecting he had no other mode, but she was still waiting to be proven wrong.

"Thanks," she said curtly, turned on her heels and made her way up to the helm. The stairs that led there creaked under her feet and it was only then, that the state of the sea occurred to her, the rest of the time she just didn't notice anymore.

When she arrived at her destination, everything was just as usual. There was Will standing there with a stern expression on his face, his ever-present compass clutched firmly in his hand. He scrutinized the deflection of the needle as if it was an actual science. Right next to him at the helm stood Barbossa his eyes fixed intently on the horizon. They would spent hours like that, with the occasional word muttered, when the course needed adjusting. How they could stand spending so much time without actually talking remained a secret to her. Another peculiarity of the male gender she wasn't able to understand.

"You called for me," Josephine said to make her presence known.

"Josephine? Oh, yes, of course," Barbossa looked at her, momentarily disorientated, as if he had been lost in deep thought, while Will only just acknowledged her presence with the indication, or better yet the hint, of a nod.

"So? What's the matter?" she enquired. "Found a spot on deck that needs swabbing or are you just experiencing a dry mouth and would like me to get you a mug of rum?" the young woman tilted her head to the left and looked at him with a mixture of friendly mockery and casualty.

Since he had been the only one willing to talk to her on her first couple on day on board, they had become something close to friends, though the word didn't actually describe their relationship properly. They shared an equally acerbic sense of humour as well as keen observation skills, which made them easily fall in conversation and share a few laughs. To call it a friendship would have been a little bit too premature, considering that Josephine still didn't not trust Barbossa entirely, which didn't keep her from enjoying his company however.

"Miss Beckett, that's no way to talk to your captain! You should bestow the same kind of respect on him as you did on you father. You should obey him and most importantly never contradict his word in public," from his tone of his voice she could discern he had no intention of threatening her. It was merely his way of countering a snide remark. He was still showing his gentle face and she had quickly learned she neither wanted to see nor provoke him to slip on his other one.

"I'm not entirely convinced we should employ such a highly ambitious comparison in this case. If I recall correctly, my father never was a pirate nor did he rob any cursed Aztec Gold and I'm also fairly certain he never rose from the dead. Quite the contrary, he was actually a quite respectable, very lovable man," at her words William briefly raised his head to look at her. She could have sworn she saw a brief smile flit over her face.

"That makes me curious, Miss Beckett, where do I rank in your esteem then?" Barbossa casually rested one arm on the helm and looked at her expectantly. He only used her last name to address her, when he was teasing her, apart from that there was an amused glint in his eyes that betrayed his playful mood.

"High enough to consider you an equal in this conversation," he let out a honest laugh at her remark, "but much too low to keep me from talking to you in this way," she did a mock curtsey, "But ere you order Mr. Gibbs to prepare the plank, I would like to forward a peace offering," Josephine reached inside her pocket and produced a green apple.

"You see, Will, that's the true nature of women," Barbossa said with a smug grin as he took the apple from her hand, "Nothing much has changed since Adam and Eve. Those spiteful creatures utter nothing but poisonous words, but still managed to tempt us with just an apple."

"Very true," the young man agreed.

"So, I suppose you didn't just summon me to afford you the opportunity to lament about men's most dire affliction – women and your incapability of understand them," she made a point out of letting a huge amount of irony seep into her voice, "…it's not that I don't enjoy exchanging inanities, but I was just wondering, was there any reason in particular you wanted to talk to me?" she asked curiously.

"Yes, Tia Dalma wants to see you," Barbossa replied, shortly before he took a luxurious bite from the apple.

She just nodded and made her way to the quarter of the voodoo priestess, silently muttering to herself, "Out of the frying pan into the fire, it is then."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's note: **This chapter will be a little bit strange...hope you'll like it anyway!

When she had arrived she raised her hand to knock at the solid wooden door that was the entrance to Tia's lodging, but did never come as far as to actually execute the motion. The door was opened ere she could announce her presence, which was obviously superfluous since the other woman seemed to already know she was coming.

"You've called for me," remarked redundantly, not knowing what else to say.

"I did. Come in," Tia stepped back and motioned her to enter with her ever-present smile on her face that was a strange mixture of mischief of wisdom. Which one of those attributes was the dominating one, was hard to tell most of the time. However that her smile had a somewhat unsettling effect on people was undisputable.

Josephine entered Tia's quarters and couldn't help but admire the change that had taken place there. Only it a few days ago this had been a rather Spartan, almost sterile room. Apparently the voodoo priestess hadn't been able to resist the temptation of bringing some of her bizarre potions and jars along. They had been carefully arranged all over the cabin by what seemed to be pure chance.

"What are all this things for?" the young woman asked curiously. She reached for a jar that stood next to her on the table and held it up to her face eyeing its contents interestedly. It was hard to make out anything at all. The water that filled the glass container was milky and what she could see swimming inside of it could best be described as some kind of root. Josephine wrinkled her nose unconsciously.

"Ingredients….sacrifices to the gods…," Tia explained.

"Does it work?" Josephine put the jar down and turned to look at her.

"Does it work?" the other woman chuckled amusedly, "You've seen Davy Jones, haven't you?"

"I did, but…"

"But you haven't started believing properly, right?"

"No, it's not that. It's….just very hard to process all this at once… it's as if my mind isn't quite able to catch up with what has happened in the last couple of weeks," she sighed.

She had the impression that Tia was paying particular attention to every word that came from her mouth, which made her feel particularly self-conscious. The young woman didn't know what else to say and Tia was not very forth coming with providing a new topic of conversation and so the conversation came to a sudden halt. As the paused prolonged, the young woman started getting uncomfortable, maybe all those strange jars were to blame for that or the even stranger woman standing in front of her.

She clumsily broke the silence, "Well…you sent for me…wasn't there something specific you wanted?"

"Yes, it be time for your lesson, Josephine."

"I'm sorry I must have misheard you. My what?" the young woman stared at her incredulously.

"Your lesson," was the highly expectable answer.

"What is it I'm supposed to learn?"

"How to find what everybody's after…the heart," Tia Dalma explained patiently. "But it won't work unless you're a believer. Are you a believer, Josephine?"

"I don't know," the young woman gulped heavily.

"Then you better become one very quickly," she remarked a little less patiently after Josephine had failed to provide the desired answer. "And I think I know just the thing…"

"It won't require me biting of the head of a chicken, will it?" the young woman finally replied half jokingly, but the nervous grin on her face immediately disappeared when she heard Tia's answers.

"Only if you want to," she replied with a devious grin.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A fundamental part of Josephine's education had been to deeply ingrain the thought in her head that believing in the supernatural, ghosts, fairy tale creatures and their likes, was not also something highly insensible, but also immature. So it was particularly hard for her to engage in this new experience that was awaiting her without being cynical or judgemental.

She had been ordered by Tia Dalma to sit on the bare wooden floor with her eyes close and to prepare mentally for the magical ritual that was about to ensue. The young woman scooted around uncomfortably. What was the sense in opening her mind to the sensation that surrounded her anyway? Wasn't it always open, since she was hearing, seeing – well, not as of now, with her eyes closed – smelling and feeling everything, most prominently the uncomfortable floor underneath her bottom, on which she had been sitting for at least half an hour.

Suddenly she felt a touch against her skin. Two fingers smeared something cool and pasty over her cheeks and her forehead. Josephine opened her eyes, thanks to the unexpected sensation. She came to look Tia Dalma directly in the face. The other woman proceeded unflinchingly with her application of what seemed to be some sort of blue muddy substance, of which Josephine preferred not to know what it was exactly. After a while she was done and started rummaging, apparently searching for some particular object. Her eyes gleamed triumphantly when they spotted a gourd lying amidst the strange array of objects that decorated her table. Tia held it out to her and Josephine had no other choice but to take it from her hands.

She swivelled it around curiously and had the impression of hearing the gurgling of a fluid inside of it. When she took a closer look she discovered it was closed with a cork. She removed it carefully and briefly sniffed at the makeshift bottle. The smell that invaded her nostrils was extremely repellent so she automatically held the gourd a little further away.

"Drink," Tia Dalma ordered her monosyllabically and underlined the force of her demand with a nudge of her head.

"It's not poison, if that's what you be thinking," she added as she saw Josephine still hesitate.

Josephine made a face, but slowly brought the bottle closer to her mouth. The smell was already creeping into her nostrils again, but she would not make the same mistake twice. She held her breath and brought the bottle to her lips. The liquid started pouring down her throat and left a pleasantly warm sensation there as if she had just drunk a hot cup of tea. She could hear a monotonous singsong in her hears. Whatever language it was in, it was unknown to her. Its long stretched vowels seemed to echo in her ears. Only after a couple of more seconds it occurred to her that it was Tia's voice she was hearing.

The bottle slipped from her fingers and rolled over floor. Its movement was trailed by a smear of colour that only retracted into the confinements of the object, when it finally lay completely still. She blinked lazy then decided to close her eyes. _Must be some kind of drug_…was a thought that momentarily flashed in her inebriated mind, but it was quickly drowned out by Tia's chanting. It seemed harder and harder to concentrate on forming coherent thoughts. 'Funny, I don't even believe in this,' a voice inside her head muttered.

Then Josephine opened her eyes again, or at least she thought she had opened her eyes, because when she looked down she could see herself sitting on the floor. It was as if she was hovering at least half a meter above herself. Panic took a hold of her. Tia had lied, it had been poison after all and now she was dead! Her soul had separated from her body. Or maybe this was all an illusion, an intricate trick she had not yet been able to understand. She would immediately stand up and walk away from this. This had already gone on for too long!

She tried to command her legs to stand up, but failed inevitably. She was no longer confined to her body and since she had no actually limbs, though she still imagined she could feel them, walking away, let alone standing up was completely out of question. She soon came to realize that the attempt alone was in itself usuless, maybe even a bit stupid.

Josephine wanted to scream in frustration, but she had no mouth to scream, no vocal chords to make the sound, no lungs to provide the needed air. A fresh wave of panic hit her together with something else: the feeling of absolute freedom, of being able to go wherever she wanted to, but just as she wanted to give into this urge, she sensed something akin to a pull.

The chanting suddenly stopped. All of a sudden she had the strange sensation of falling deeper and deeper. At first she spiralled downwards like a feather, but soon the soft hovering turned into a panic striking dive towards the ground. Josephine swayed forward and her reflexes kept her from landing head first on the floor. She blinked in disorientation.

Everything was still a blur, but she could doubtlessly feel that her hands, that had stopped her fall and now rested against the rough wooden surface of the floorboards. Still her head refused to stop spinning. She perceived the world as if through a veil. The shapes of objects were distorting and overlaying. Her stomach contorted and a sudden nausea hit her. She was not able to repress it and had to throw up. When she was done she felt a sudden chill creep over her skin, but on the upside the world had gotten into focus again. She was still in Tia Dalma's quarters.

"Blimey!" she managed to get out with a creaky voice. What she had just experienced could not be expressed by a more sophisticated choice of words.

"Do you believe now?" Tia Dalma looked at her curiously from the other side of the room.

Oh, she did believe alright.


	13. Chapter 13

Back in England he had once been on a fox hunt. It had not been a particularly rewarding experience. There was a party of hunters, most of them riding on horses, while some servant conducted over a dozen of foxhounds on the leach. The dogs usually salivated heavily and once they had picked up the trail of the animal, they would become agitated and start barking. The fox really didn't stand much of a chance since the hunters and the dogs outnumbered him so unfairly.

What he despised about it was the fact that it was not really a sport – there was no exertion that was recompensed by success – one didn't have to do much to catch the pray. It was rather a cruel parlour game than an actual hunt. In the end the dogs would get the fox and tear him apart, as the hunters stood by and watching, occasionally praising their pets for their keen senses. He definitely took no pleasure in something like that.

The current situation bore a close resemblance to a fox hunt. Two days ago the Flying Dutchman had picked up the trace of another ship. How they had managed to was beyond him, but given his surrounding and the company he was in, he didn't need to question the fact that they did. Davy Jones barked a couple of orders across deck and Norrington hurried to make himself useful. The fact that the shark-headed crewman with the barbed scourge hanging from his belt had eyed him interestedly ever since he had arrived on board, presented an additional enticement.

Undoubtedly they would catch up with the ship sooner or later. They were probably pirates and since Davy Jones had order from Lord Beckett to destroy any pirate ship that crossed his path, they were already doomed without knowing it. A couple of months ago it would have been of no consequence to him what happened to those strangers, but now things were different. It was not like all of a sudden he had started to morally condone piracy, but after all they were fellow human beings. He believed the punishment that awaited them was disproportionate to their crimes.

To be quite frank, it scared him what he saw in the eyes of those hybrid creatures half man, half monster that surrounded him. It was as if in the course of the many years they had spent on board of the ship, all humanity had left them and what remained was only animalistic instinct. They seemed to be already fletching their teeth like hungry dogs and liking their lips in anticipation. Every time he looked at them he recoiled inwardly, but secretly asked himself what really made him any different from them. He knew despair all to well. They had been forced into their bargain with Davy Jones, because they had no other choice, because despair had driven them to bind themselves to him eternally. And had he not traded his soul to Beckett, because he had nowhere left to go, but back into his old life? Therefore he could not allow himself the luxury of feeling superior. On the contrary, he felt humbled discovering those parallels.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Josephine had woken to the anxious calls of the lookout. "A ship! A ship! We are being followed," he had called out repeatedly until the whole crew had assembled on deck. They all looked just as drowsy as she felt, but the last remains of sleep quickly vanished from their faces as they recognized their pursuers.

"It's the Flying Dutchman," William Turner announced the verdict right after he had lowered the spyglass.

She had expected this, just not so soon. Josephine shielded her eyes with her hand, frantically trying to make out the ship in the distance, but to no avail. All she could see was a tiny little black dot that was lurking at the horizon. Their time was running out and if they were not able to save Sparrow, her whole plan would be ruin.

"Will we be able to make it?" she enquired nervously.

"No," Barbossa replied matter-of-factly, "even the Pearl barely managed to outrun them and on this ship we don't stand a chance in hell."

"So what do you suggest we do then?" Elizabeth interjected, unusually agitated.

All of a sudden another frightened scream from the lookout interrupted the discussion on deck. This time though, the poor man wasn't even able to articulate what he had seen properly. The only things that left his mouth were indiscernible vowel sounds, but explanation were not needed at that point. They were all able to see what had caused his discomfort.

"Bloody hell," Barbossa whispered as he stared at the picture in front of them. Seconds later he had overcome his astonishment, "Let go anchor! Let go anchor!" he screamed with a discrete amount of panic in his voice.

The crew awoke from its astonished trance and sudden jumped into action. Immediately the deck was filled with frantic activity. The rusty chain rattled noisily as the heavy anchor dived with a loud splash into the waves of the ocean, while the gale still curved the sails and carried the ship ahead. Like a dog yanked back by the leash the Enterprise came to a sudden stop and made the men and women aboard stumble around comically. A loud creaking noise expressed the ships disapproval of being treated so poorly.

They hadn't anchored a second too late. When Josephine pulled herself up on the railing she was hardly able to believe her eyes. Hadn't Galileo claimed the world was round like a ball? Still what she saw seemed to prove his words wrong. Before her lay gaping nothingness - an endless abyss that had no ground. The sea just ended there. Its waves seemed to hit an impenetrable wall. Apparently not even the smallest drop of water was allowed to trespass this invisible barrier.

All she was able to do in the face of such insanity was to let out dry laugh that seemed to choke in her throat.

"Well, I suppose that's the end of the world," William remarked beside her, as he stared with wide eyes into the abyss.

"You think?" she arched a delicate eyebrow at him.

As if on cue Tia Dalma made her appearance on deck. Unlike the rest of them she didn't seem to be even the least bewildered. The look on her face bore close resemblance to the content expression of a runner that made it across the finish line as the winner of the race. "We're finally there," she announced, then turned her head in the direction of Barbossa, "You should prepare da plank."

"The plank?" Josephine looked at her incredulously.

"Yeah, da plank," Tia answered without deeming it necessary to clarify her intentions any further.

Elizabeth came to her aid, "Why? Where would we be going? There is nothing there…quite literally," she gesticulated at the abyss behind her or a lack of words.

"Exactly," the voodoo woman awarded them one of her black teethed grins that was reserved for special occasions.

This explanation wasn't particularly trust inspiring, when she heard it first and it became even less reassuring once the plank was actually extended and they were expected to set foot on it. Somehow Tia was convinced that William, Elizabeth and Josephine were supposed to go on this crazy rescue mission and surprisingly no one was arguing with her. Apparently the others were worried she could make up her mind and send them instead.

"This is insane," Josephine protested just as William climbed on the wooden board.

"Do you want to save Jack?" Tia asked rhetorically.

"Yes."

"Then I'd suggest you hurry up," the voodoo priestess told her callously and motioned into general direction of the plank.

Josephine looked at her in bafflement, but then slowly nodded. She just hoped she knew what she was doing.

Obviously William was less hesitant about following senseless orders. He was already balancing over the plank, only when he reached the end he hesitated briefly. Traces of an inward struggle were briefly delineating on his face, then he made up his mind, closed his eyes tightly and jumped. He seemed to momentarily hover in midair between the ship and the abyss before he disappeared. The invisible barrier between sea and the devouring void suddenly became shiny and viscous like melted silver. William broke the surface and large circles extended from his entrance point. The air flickered like it was heated up too much by the sun, then pacified again. The phenomena reoccurred right after Elizabeth had jumped.

Josephine was the last to go. When she reached the end of the plank, she threw a brief glance over her shoulder to take a last look at the approaching ship. Then she made her decision and jumped.

**Author's note: **Thanks for reviewing, you guys! As I said the last chapter was a bit weird (what happened in the ceremony was some sort of out-of-body-experience, supposedly induced by the undefinable liquid Josephine had to drink) From here it just gets weirder and then darker...so beware.

The End of the World - I figured it was something like in Eric the Viking (this great abyss). No worries, I'm not gonna leave Josephine haning there in midair for long ;-)


	14. Chapter 14

"So," Barbossa turned to the woman standing next to him. The loud sound of the plank being retracted momentarily interrupted their conversation - the noise stemmed from the friction of rough wood against wood and the clattered as it escaped the crewman's gasp. Barbossa threw him an angry glance, but then focused on Tia Dalma against, "Enlighten me. What are they going to have to face there?" he indicated the abyss vaguely.

Tia Dalma hesitated before she replied and for a moment he almost expected her to ignore his question completely. "It's hard to tell…"

"Well, guess what. I figured that part out all by myself," he said sarcastically.

The voodoo priestess shot him a dirty look, "As I was just gonna explain…Raising the dead is tricky business, it's a lot to ask, so you have to give a lot in return," came her rather enigmatic answer.

"I'm not sure I understand that," Barbossa frowned.

"It's a bargain, Hector," she smiled at him sweetly, but somehow she looked like a cobra trying to hypnotize its prey, "Death's a little bit like fear. Fear freezes da blood," she liked her lips as she uttered this delicious word, "it confuses de mind. It can be the reason for defeat and failure…They'll have to conquer their worst fears to prove they be worthy of receiving the gift of the abyss."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Will was standing in front of a panoramic window. The midday light fell on his face and made him squint his eyes. The thick glass slightly distorted the vision of the outside world, nevertheless he could clearly see the endless blue of the ocean stretching beneath him from where he stood. The slight rocking told him he was aboard of a ship.

He shook his head. Somehow this didn't feel right, as if he had expected to be somewhere else. Where was he anyways? He turned around and let his eyes roam over his surroundings. This was probably the captain's quarters, given the room's luxurious decoration. There was a heavy mahogany desk with all sorts of maps laying on it, a big hat rested casually at the corner of the table and right next to it an expensive looking spyglass. He weighted it in his hand and looked at his with interest of a connoisseur. It was excellent craftsmanship, probably worth a fortune. He respectfully laid it back right on the spot from where he had first taken it.

Heavy burgundy curtains hung left and right of the huge window, expensive tapestries covered the floor and he strongly suspected the large wooden chest in the corner of the room to be filled with treasure. He eyed it interestedly, than finally gave into his curiosity and decided to sneak a peak. It would do no harm. Will was halfway across the room when the door was ripped open and another person marched in. It was Jack Sparrow. William froze in tracks, as if he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and looked at the pirate with wide eyes. Which puzzled him even more than Jack's unexpected arrival was the fact that he felt oddly relieved seeing him. He almost felt compelled to give him a hug. But why? William made a face. How strange! Yet another thing he couldn't remember.

"Dreadfully sorry to intrude Captain," Jack told him ere William could ask what was going on, "but I fear we have a tiny," he made a gesture with his hand, "really just a wee little problem."

He was the Captain? Now he was realizing what was going on. This was just another one of Jack's silly jokes. He would dish him some cock-and-bull story and use Will's gullibility and trusting nature to poke fun of him. This time he wouldn't allow him the satisfaction of succeeding, so he played along, "And what is this tiny, wee little problem?"

"Well, the crew is showing a certain weariness, some of them, hardly anybody at all…just two or three of them, you see…have been voicing complaints," he grinned at him apologetically.

"How many exactly?" William asked worriedly.

"Just a few," Jack answered evasively.

"How many!" William's voice had considerably increased in volume, when he asked the second time.

"Well….all of them," the other man admitted finally.

"That's a mutiny. We have a mutiny, on our hands!" Will exclaimed agitatedly. "Alright, what is it that they want?"

"How should I know? That's a deeply philosophic question: what a man wants…can hardly be answered in this short a time."

"Alright," the young man rolled his eyes. "Let's asked them then, shall we."

William hastened out of his quarters and up the stair that led on deck. The steps creak under his forceful steps. As he went he could already hear the arguing, excited voices of the crew, by then he had ruled out the possibility that this could be a prank after all. He ripped open the two winged wooden door and stepped out into the light. Immediately the men stopped talking and a tense silence engulfed the ship.

William looked around and so only grim expressions, disapproving frowns and angry glances. He had to say something and it better be something very convincing and authoritarian. But what on earth was he to tell them? His musings were interrupted by noisy steps behind them that announced the tardy arrival of Jack. He was glad to have a friend at his side in a situation like that.

"What am I supposed to tell them?" he whispered at him over his shoulder.

"See, that's the thing…I don't have the slightest idea," Jack replied in a lowered voice.

"Aren't you supposed to help me in a situation like that? After all you're my first mate…"

"Listen up, Whelp, I'd very much like to assist you with some brilliant advice, but unfortunately my last mutiny didn't bode all to well for me. You surely do remember my involuntary exile on that bloody island…"

So that probably meant he was alone in this. Bloody brilliant! Either he spoke now or he waited for the wrath of the crew to unleash on him. He definitely wasn't inclined to let the latter happen.

"So," he looked around challengingly. "What is it that you want?" His voice reverberated loudly over the deck and was only interrupted by the erratic calls of the seagulls flying above.

First there was embarrassed silence, then a coarse looking man, with a hawkish nose and dark eyebrows answered, "What we want?" he laughed out ironically and stepped out of the crowed. "What we want is for you to finally come to your senses, eh?" he looked around for approval, which his comrades were ready to provide with loud cheers and whistles.

"We're not a bunch of cowardly ninnies, we're not Samaritans either…or what their likes are called….we're pirates!" the cheers increased in intensity at his last word. "We haven't made any loot lately…and why is that? Because our captain's too chicken to actually pillage and plunder." A few loud ayes followed his words suit.

Will raised his hands in order to indicate he wanted to reply and after a while the calls subsided, "Look…what's your name sailor?"

"Butch," the name fitted his character precisely. It already sounded somewhat brutal and raw. William had no doubts that this man was able to unflinchingly commit murder.

"Butch…," the name rolled from his tongue with a certain distaste, "since you are a pirate you should know that not every Dick, Tom and Harry is allowed to call himself captain. A captain doesn't lead his men blindly into battle, he chooses the most profitable goal and targets it. He knows how to pick his battles. And most importantly he's a man other should talk to with respect," he glared at his opponent meaningfully. The few hesitant cheers that followed his words proved that the mood was already wavering in his favour and gave him some additional confidence.

"You're talking about being a captain and stuff, but it still remains to be seen if you'll stay alive long enough to finish your little speech," Butch decided to make up for his lack in eloquence by violence. He drew his sword and stepped closer threateningly. A handful of other men followed his example.

Will could feel the palms of his hands become sweaty, but nevertheless he didn't allow his fear to show its on his face or in his demeanour. "Obviously you haven't understood a word I'm saying," he put on hand on the hilt of his sword. "A captain is not just the most powerful person on board of a ship. He's a provider, he looks out for his fellow crewmen. This isn't a dictatorship, it's much rather a democracy. It does not only matter what I say, but what the others say as well.  
So if you lot think, that Butch here, will be a good captain, that he will not lead you into senseless battles and get you killed…please, feel free to join him," he looked around and noted with a considerable amount of satisfaction that some men out of Butch's following were already starting to fade back into the crowd.

As he drew his own sword even more of them started to retreat. Even if they doubted his abilities as captain of the ship, his mastery of the sword was undisputed. "Does anybody want to challange me?Because I won't back down without a fight." His voice sounded determined and persuaded a few doubters of his suitability for being captain.

"I do," Butch stepped out of the shelter of the crowd, unwilling to relent.

William's response was only a weak smile. Some would have called it arrogance, but as a matter of fact it was not. He just knew his abilities, what he could or could not do and what he definately could do, was defeat his opponent. After a few minutes this assessment was verified, since Butch was lying at his feet clutching his bleeding shoulder with one hand. The fight had been short, Butch's attacks had been forceful thanks to his anger, but rather sloppy.

"So, who do you choose?" William called out one more time, as he towered victorously over his challenger. There was a slight hesitation than a disorderly choir of voices answered, "You Captain Turner!" He had won the battle, but not war. The crowd slowly started to disperse.

"Nice touch how you handled the mutiny bit," Jack told him off-beat and whistled through his teeth to show how impressed he was.

"Thanks….I guess," William shrugged casually.

"Captain, what are we supposed to do with the mutineer?" a crewman asked eagerly.

William looked up to the sky as if the answer was to be found there and indeed it was. Seagulls were circling the mast and crying to each other. Their presence could only mean one thing - that land was close by.

"Prepare the plank," he said simply. As he had demonstrated quite impressively, he was the captain of this ship and it sometimes required taking some uncomfortable decisions. Butch sneered as the men lead him off, but it left William unfazed.

"I was right….like most of the times," Jack grinned at him triumphantly.

"About what?" the young man asked confusedly.

"You're quite a good pirate. You've finally understood what this is all about," he made a vast gesture with his hand, basically indicating the entire ship. "It seems that the blood can't be denied after all."

"So it seems," William replied after a moment of hesitation. A smile was slowly spreading on his face, but quickly disappeared, when his eyes perceived something he could barely believe to be true. The world around him suddenly seemed to be melting away like wax. Like the layers of an onion reality peeled away, starting from the top - the sky. What lay underneath its azure blue vastness was a greyish rocky surface. William blinked repeated, but it seemed that his vision wasn't playing any tricks on him. This was really happening. He anxiously retreated as if he was afraid he himself would vanish together with this illusion that surrounded him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was Elizabeth's wedding day. The sun was rising over Port Royal and the terrace on which the ceremony was to take place was slowly heating up. She tugged self-consciously at her elaborate dress. It had cost her father a fortune, but nevertheless it didn't manage to be comfortable. Elizabeth moved her fan vigorously up and down to provide at least some refreshment and to find an outlet for her nervousness. The lacing of the dress pressed uncomfortably against her skin and she couldn't help but look forward to the time it was finally undone. Some naughty thoughts invaded her mind and she blushed ever so slightly.

"Elizabeth, my dear, are you ready to go?" Governor Weatherby Swann asked his daughter gently. In his eyes she was still his little girl and he couldn't imagine how time could have flown by so quickly. Yet again this was her wedding day, which must inevitably mean that she was an adult and he had to let her go.

Elizabeth briefly looked at him in wonder as if she didn't know what he was talking about, but then finally nodded. He offered her his arm and they stepped out on the aisle that let up to the makeshift alter. Left and right of them a murmur went through the guests as they first laid eye on the beautiful bride and her father who was beaming with pride. The slowly marched on in a dignified way and Elizabeth could feel her heart beating a little louder with each step she took.

They had arrived at their destination and her father gave her arm one last affectionate squeeze before he walked away to take his seat. She turned around to the man who was waiting for her at the altar, the one she was about to marry. Her groom was looking dashing with his three-cornered hat and his mischievous smirk reassuringly in place as always. He was contently stroking his goatee, while he eyed her over admiringly. Jack offered her his arm and they made the last couple of steps to the altar together.

Elizabeth's smile broadened as she met yet another familiar face. William was standing there with a stern expression on his face. He was clothed in robes of a priest and looked at them complacently, as he opened the prayer book that rested in his hands to start the ceremony.

As he started reading in his beautiful, melodic voice as strange sensation invaded her, which she wasn't able to shake off anymore. The words William said faded into an indiscernible blur as she lost herself in her thoughts. There was something odd about this situation, but she wasn't able to put her finger on what it was exactly.

Ere she could make up her mind about it her attention was abruptly drawn back to the ceremony, when she heard Will utter the words, "Captain Jack Sparrow do you take this woman, Elizabeth Swann to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to cherish her in sickness and in health till death do you part?"

The uncharacteristic stern expression on Jack's face let her look at him in astonishment, when he replied, "I do," without any hesitation. Will nodded at his answer contently and turned shortly after to Elizabeth.

"And now I ask you Elizabeth Swann do you take this man, Captain Jack Sparrow, to be your lawfully wedded Husband? Do you promise to cherish and love him until death do you part?" the question hovered in the air unanswered. She had understood the words with complete clarity, only that now something seemed to hinder her from answering, let alone speaking.

Could she do what this vow asked of her? Doubtlessly there was a considerable amount of physical attraction between Jack and her. Elizabeth gave him one more look as if to check and was rewarded with a charming grin, during which he flashed her his sparkling golden teeth. Inevitably her eyes landed on his lips – the lips she had kissed only a couple of days ago. A couple of days ago? Wait, that wasn't right. It seemed odd that they didn't kiss in such a long time after all they were engaged. Maybe they had argued….She quickly banished the thought from her mind as it didn't lead anywhere nor contribute to solving the problem at hand.

At least a dozen eyes rest on her and she could feel the pressure of the important decision rest on her shoulders heavily. Nevertheless this was something that could change her whole life, so she had to think carefully. An embarrassed cough was audible, coming somewhere from the back of the aisle.

Jack bent over and whispered conspiratorially in her ear, "Come on, dear. Let's get this over with. Can't wait to peel you out of this dress tonight."

To say that the possibility didn't tempt her would have been a lie, but this discovery only added to her confusion. Somehow in the midst of all this insanity Will and her had made eye contact and though it was only for a fleeting moment it had a profound effect on Elizabeth. It felt like she had slept to long and was know finally waking up.

"No," she said at first softly. Then repeated it aloud with more reassurance in her voice, "No, I don't want to."

Jack's coal rimmed eyes obtruded comically as he pointed his finger at her dramatically. It slightly wavered in the air right in front of her face. His tone of voice though, took the force out of the whole scene. It sounded as if he was merely telling a child it had lied to him - very casual. "Traitor," he said.

Her father, however, was not as unfazed by the happenings as Jack. Governor Swann got to his feet in indignation. This was an outrage! "Elizabeth, I don't understand what's going on….You kissed this man, so you must love him."

"But I don't," she said and couldn't help but noticed that her voice sounded oddly relieved.

" How do you mean you don't?" her father asked confusedly.

"Well….there one thing such as flirtation and there is love. Jack's quite the attractive man, but I'm afraid I don't love him. No offence, Jack."

"None taken," he shrugged his shoulders casually, then sauntered over to launch casually on the empty seats in the front row. He figured his active part in this was over, so he might as well enjoy the show.

Elizabeth frowned at his behaviour, after all only a couple of minutes ago he had been only too eager to marry her, but suddenly it occurred to her. She almost would have forgotten, this was Jack. To him almost everything was a game.

"I treated Jack very poorly, for which I'm deeply sorry," she lowered her head. The profoundness of her emotion unsettled her. It was as if she had done something inexcusable, the worst thing about it, or maybe it was truly for the better, was that she couldn't remember what it had been at all. "I'm sorry Jack," Elizabeth repeated. The rational distance had disappeared from her voice.

He just tipped his hat and winked at her, which was his way of showing he accepted her apology.

After a few seconds she had collected herself again and was able to continue, " I think it's time I finally admit it…I've been afraid to get married. I suppose its only naturally…after all they have a name for it: 'cold feet'," her mouth briefly curled into a smile, which immediately disappeared when she looked into her father's stern face. She hurried to explain herself more thoroughly, "I've never imagined it could happen to me, but I guess I just didn't understand how big a commitment marriage really is…after all you're promising to spend the rest of your life with this one special person," she briefly stopped talking and closed her eyes to order the chaotic array of thoughts that were buzzing through her head. She had not expected that she would have to explain herself and it seemed difficult to find the right words.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking these last couple of days," Elizabeth finally continued, "Love is not always easy….it maybe very easy at first, but as time passes complications arise. You have to put all your effort into keeping a relationship together and start every day with the conscious decision for the person you love. No matter what has happened or how much has changed. You have to be willing to grow together, respect each other," the next word she uttered held a lot of emotion, "talk to each other….something I unfortunately neglected doing in the past few days…but now I'm even more sure than ever, it's him I want to be with."

"Which isn't me, right?" Jack interjected.

"No, I'm sorry," she lowered her head.

"Never mind. Just checking," he crossed his arms over his chest and leant back comfortably in his seat.

"But who is it then, Elizabeth?" her father asked her almost imploringly.

"The one that fate brought to me," she smiled a little and unconsciously touched her neck where once the golden coin of Cortez had hung from a delicate golden chain, "And even though I've been knowing him for years, I still want to know him better…He's my best friend, my confidant, my soul mate…At times he can be my worst critic and enrage me like no one does, but that's alright, because I deep down I know that our arguments can never be serious as long as we love each other," she turned around and looked at William with tears shining in her eyes.

"Do you still love me?" her voice was emotionally charged and uncharacteristically fragile

"Yes," he said without hesitation.

They kissed passionately. All the bent up frustration, the relief upon their conciliation was poured into this kiss and made them forget the world around them entirely. When they broke apart and looked around in astonishment, the terrace were they had stood had vanished and was replaced by the depressing grey stonewalls of a cave.


	15. Chapter 15

Like every night Josephine put her little daughter Susan to sleep. The girl had already crawled under the covers and was now beaming up at her mother with a big smile on her face. She was positively adorable with her big blue eyes, her chubby red cheeks and her slightly ruffled long brown hair. "I want to hear a story," she demanded with a certain predictability like every night.

"Alright," Josephine let out a mock sigh. To be truthful she enjoyed reading Susan stories. It was a time solely reserved for the both of them. A ritual that was performed every day quite willingly. "What story do you want to hear?"

"The one with the pirates."

"What on earth is it with you and pirates? Could it be…that maybe you're a pirate yourself?" she started tickling Susan's tummy. The little girl squealed delightedly, "It's time you confessed, you little culprit. Are you a pirate?" Susan just giggled a little louder in response, "Come on, admit it…are you?"

"Yes," Susan laughed. "Yes, I am. I'm the worst of them all," she buffed her chest proudly.

"Oh," her mother called out in mock horror and sank down on her chair in dramatic pose, "there's no hope for me then! I'm lost! I'm in the clutches of the terrible pirates Susan."

"No, mama you've got it all wrong again, I'm not Susan, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," she wiggled her index finger underneath her nose, "See, my moustache?"

"I do dear. You look quite dashing," Josephine laughed.

"So will you read me the story?" Susan asked with all the seriousness a six year old could manage.

"Of course, I will," her mother smiled at her in response and took the book from the nightstand. She scooted her chair a little bit closer to the candle that stood on it and started reading, "Once upon a time. Far, far away from England there was a pirate named Jack Sparrow. He was the captain of the fastest ship in the Caribbean, the Black Pearl. Our hero was a very brave and cunning man, but not even he could foresee that his first mate, a devious, evil man who went by the name of Hector Barbossa, would one day come to betray him….," Josephine briefly looked up from her book. What she saw almost made her heart melt. Susan had already fallen asleep. She silently closed the book and leaned over her daughter to give her a quick peck on the forehead, then she took up the candle and soundlessly crept out of the room.

The house lay completely silent, which was surprising, since it was still early in the evening. She reached the bedchamber and she opened the door. It was dark inside. When she entered the room, Josephine could hear the regular breathing of her husband. She would have loved to read a few pages of the romance novel that rested at her nightstand ere she went to bed herself, but she was afraid she would wake him up. So she blew out the candle, took of her robe and crept into bed. She lay there for a while with her eyes staring into the darkness.

They had been married for seven years now. Mrs. Weatherby Knightly…she automatically turned her head in the direction of the man lying next to her. The only thing visible of him was a dark contour.

It was not a marriage that had its foundation on passion or love. Their marriage had been a reasonable decision and had been concluded, because that was what was expected of them. There was nothing romantic about it. Weatherby was a rich man looking for a wife and she had been an eighteen year old, eligible girl. She did not feel bitter about their marriage. They had become friends in the course of years, but sometimes she wished it was more, but apparently that was not to be. But what was that more exactly? She had never experienced it first hand, all she knew about love stemmed from the novels she read. They described love as this great everlasting passion. It couldn't be like that. Everything in this life was difficult, why should love be any different?

Since she wasn't able to fall asleep she decided to stand up and take a look out of the window. The peaceful nightly scenery of the moonlight garden below usually calmed her nerves. As she stepped closer she could see a bluish shimmer fall through the window pane. Josephine thought nothing of it and closed the last few meters between her and her destination. Instead of the usual scenery a very different sight opened up to her eyes. It had something utterly surreal to it and she had to pinch her arm to make sure she wasn't dreaming. While she felt the pain of her nails on her own skin subside, her eyes widened comically. Instead of the garden she was looking down on the deck of a ship. She could clearly see the crew scurrying beneath her and when she looked closer she recognized a very familiar face – herself. Josephine wasn't able to pry her eyes away nor make a sound, so she just stood there motionlessly.

She watched with an open mouth as the slightly younger version of herself paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from her forehead in a very unladylike gesture. The other Josephine's appearance had something commanding to it and radiate the confidence of a person that was largely at peace with herself. She immediately felt the hint of jealousy stir inside of her. Her own demeanour could at best be described as shy, when she was in the company of people she didn't knew. The aura that surrounded this person , was something she had never experienced in her life: absolute freedom.

The scene faded before her eyes and she was half inclined to scream out in protest, but remembered her sleeping husband just in time. She quickly clamped her hands over her mouth. He wouldn't be pleased if she woke him in the middle of the night, just because she was having some bizarre vision. Maybe she was even sleepwalking.

When she turned back her eyes to the window, she would have almost jumped back in shock. This other version of herself was now standing directly in front of her. It was like looking into a mirror that had a slightly rejuvenating effect. Oddly enough her double was wearing men's clothes, something she would have never dared to do.

"I'm dreaming, I must be dreaming," Josephine muttered to herself and stretched out her hand to touch the vision in front of her, as if to make sure it was real. However all her fingers felt when they made contact, was the cool surface of glass.

"Let me assure you, you're not dreaming," the other version of her replied. She even had the same voice as her.

"But what is this then! Am I going mad?" she made a few steps back from the window, her heart palpitating loudly inside her chest. She thought off all those gruesome methods doctors used to cure madness, that often resulted in deteriorating the patient's condition. Asylums, insane cries, misery…

"No, you're not going made. This is just a test. Don't you see that?"

"A test? Are you a demon? Have you come to tempt me?" Josephine was getting increasingly agitated. Demon possession was retained to be a cause of madness.

"I'm not a demon," the other woman shook her head emphatically, "I don't want to tempt you. I just want you to make a choice," she made a pacifying gesture.

"A choice? About what?"

"About your life. What you want it to be like."

"I've already made my choice. I can hardly change my mind now, I'm a married woman," Josephine laughed softly. She was nervously fiddling with the wedding ring on her finger.

"This life your living….it's not real," her doppelganger told her carefully, as if she was afraid she could do any damage with that information. As a matter of fact she had to be very subtle, otherwise her chance of persuading her other self would be gone. If she asked too much of her she would inevitably close up.

"How can you say something like that? Of course, it's real. See, there that's my husband sleeping over there. I just brought my little daughter to sleep. How can this not be real!" she gestured emphatically at the sleeping form on the bed.

"You have a daughter?" her double asked in astonishment. There was an emotionally charged tremble in her voice. The look in her eyes was a mixture between utter shock and pleasant surprise.

"Yes, her name's Susan. She'll be six next week," Josephine told the other woman with a proud smile on her lips.

"I always liked that name…It was mother's name," her doppelganger said in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

"Yes, she has quite the stunning resemblance with mother. Susan's is a very lively little girl, though, I don't know where she got that from."

"I do," her double smiled broadly.

"But I'm not like that at all," Josephine protested in indignation.

"Are you sure of that? Have you ever had the chance to give into that part of your nature?"

She decided to ignore the other woman's questions. They were getting under her skin. "Do you have any children?" she asked casually.

"No, net yet. Maybe someday."

"But you do have a husband?"

"No, not exactly," she replied hesitantly.

Josephine was shocked. That she was at least twenty years of age and hadn't even wasted a thought on marriage, was utterly scandalous. At twenty-five an unmarried woman was already regarded as a spinster and apparently she was well on her way to becoming one. Apart from that she couldn't imagine who would wish to marry a woman like that. Her behaviour was unacceptable, the way she spoke did not become a woman at all. Her way of making conversation was much too argumentative and suggested a complicated character. In spite of all that her evasive answer still left to hope.

"What do you mean by not exactly?" she wasn't ready to admit defeat just yet.

"I'm in love with someone," her doppelganger admitted almost embarrassedly. As if being in love was something foolish.

"Really? How wonderful! I suppose you are already engaged?" the tone in her voice implied that she thought it to be an absolute requisite that the relationship was at least founded on a respectable basis.

"No, I'm afraid not, but we did kiss," a shy smile tugged at the corner's of her mouth.

"And you do truly love him?" she asked again as if this concept of being in love with a man seemed alien to her.

"Don't you love your husband?"

She hesitated briefly. Did she love Weatherby? Their was a deep friendship between them, they respected each other, but there was no passion – it had never been there to begin with. They didn't have much in common either. They were two different characters entirely, linked together by holy promise they both respected too much to break. This wasn't love, but still she was having trouble admitting it.

"No, I don't." The fact that she was ashamed for that statement, was clearly written on her face.

Her double was clearly taken aback by her words. After a few seconds, when she had overcome her shock, she asked curiously, "It's that Weatherby Knigthly, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I don't see how this should matter…"

"I remember him, he was a nice man, but nevertheless I turned him down."

"You turned him down? Why?"

"I didn't love him."

"So when it came to make a decision you chose to act selfishly instead of sensibly. What securities have you to show for? You're utterly depend from Cutler's good will…you're a burden to your family."

Her double tried to appear as if she was unfazed by her accusations, but nevertheless they had some effect on her. Josephine could tell by the way the other woman nervously threw back her hair. "I think I actually did poor Weatherby a favour, he married a year later after I had turned him down. I was invited to the wedding. They looked so happy together. He was smiling from cheek to cheek that day. He never smiled when he was with me. I knew I made the right decision then, which was absolutely not selfish at all, let me assure you."

"Alright," she said complacently, "So this man you're in love with…who is he?"

She frowned pensively – what way best to describe him – it seemed difficult since she could think of so many things she deemed worthy of mentioning, "Well, he's a Navy Officer – handsome, well-mannered, complicated….there's something about him that always manages to intrigue me. At times he seems to me like an unsolvable mystery," she smiled in self-awareness, "Of course, I'm quite predictably ending up in losing myself in frightfully tawdry metaphors. I'm sorry. To put it quite simply he's a fascinating person to talk to, to argue with…"

"Argue with? And he condones such behaviour!"

"A man may condone one thing, but like the other," her double raised her eyebrows ironically.

Despite herself Josephine had to smile. This did indeed sound exciting. "Does this choice have to do something with him?"

"It has to do everything with him. Only if we pass this test we will see him again. Only then…," her voice possessed a strangled quality and barely suppressed despair reverberated in it.

"What can I do to help you?" Josephine asked sympathetically.

"You have to come to me."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

The answer consisted of only one word, but needed no further explanation, "Susan." Of course, a mother would not leave her child.

"I'm sorry to be asking you to do this, but I really do need your help and I promise this will not be the last you ever see of Susan."

"How can you promise something like that? If all this isn't real she will vanish with the rest of this. I don't want to risk losing her. She's the only thing in my life that makes any sense," the other her could not be able to understand the strong bond between a mother and a daughter, since she didn't have any children of her own. She had not experienced the joy of first seeing your child. The sudden wonder that overcomes you when they look at you, after all the painful, sleepless hours, just look at you and you cannot help but love them unconditionally.

"So you would rather risk losing yourself instead?" her double asked gravely.

"Yes, if that meant I could save her."

"Look, I know you better than anybody else…," she sighed, "I know that there's a side of you, you always suppress. You can't be happy, because somebody else always told you who to be. You've never had the chance to get acquainted with yourself, of knowing what you can or can't do. Your opinion isn't valid, you have learned to obey, to do the prudent thing, to always care for other peoples' opinion, your reputation…Is that what you want to teach your daughter?"

"I'll teach her to be a proper lady, to behave respectably," she stood proudly, when she said those words. Her tone very much like that of a governess. Her words were just an echo of what had been told to her over and over again.

"You'll teach her to marry a man she doesn't love, to lead a miserable life just like you."

"No, I want her to live a better life."

"See that makes me curious…what exactly is your definition of a better life?" her double inclined her head to one side and looked at her interestedly.

"That she'll be able to have the things I didn't have," she said simply.

"I think that you will ultimately end up depriving her of those things. How can you ensure her happiness, when you don't even manage to ensure your own. She's a part of you, whatever affects you, will automatically affect her. She will know you don't love her father, children have a very keen perception when it comes to that. They notice the little things…"

"What makes you think your life is so much better than mine?" Josephine said spitefully.

"I don't presume it is any better than yours, but at least it's my life. I make my own decisions and I'll have to live with them eventually."

"Do you want to have a family someday?"

"I wonder that you should have to ask. We're the same person, don't you see? Of course, I want all that," she smiled reassuringly, "but only with the right man."

"And you think James is the one?" Josephine asked. The name slipped from her tongue though her double had never told her. It had not been necessary. She could feel memories flood her mind that were strangely alien yet at the same time familiar. It was like two words were suddenly overlapping and she didn't know anymore to which she belonged.

"It's much too early to tell, but there's the chance that he could be…" the words sounded as if they had been spoken by two voices simultaneously.

"Is that enough?"

"It has to be."

Josephine nodded pensively and then slowly reached out to grasp her double's hand.


	16. Chapter 16

She was slightly disorientated when she opened her eyes, but could still feel her hand holding on to somebody else's and if her eyes didn't not deceive her they were standing inside of a grotto. Josephine blinked repeatedly and once her sight had gained focus she could make out the person standing in front of her properly. It was a man, probably in his mid thirties, he was deeply tanned, which told her that he spent a considerable amount of time outdoors, his hair was long and looked like it had never seen a comb. The goatee into which coloured beats were braided, gave away the same impression. Josephine turned her hand a little and saw her suspicions concerning his identity verified when she lay eyes on the tattoo on the inside of his arm. It depicted a soaring sparrow. "Jack Sparrow," she said, stating the obvious.

"The very same and who might you be?" he was trying to retreat his hand, but she held onto it in a vicelike grip. He looked at her with round, astonished eyes.

She searchingly reached with her left arm behind her back. Her fingers connected with the cool metal of the pistol, she had tugged under her belt. It was still the same exact one James had given her, so that she had something to defend herself with on her travels. With on fluid motion she produced it and held it to Jack's head. Behind her she could hear the surprised calls of William and Elizabeth. She had half-expected them to be there.

Jack eyed the barrel of the gun with wide eyes and gulped heavily. His free hand unconsciously tugged at the collar of his shirt.

"I'm Josephine Beckett," she told him casually.

"That wouldn't be Beckett as in Lord Cutler Beckett?" he put his finger on the tip of the barrel and tried to push it done, but to no avail. It didn't even waver.

"Precisely," her eyes narrowed disapprovingly. He quickly retreated his finger and made a grimace as if it had been burned.

A few meters behind him she could see something akin to a portal. Its silvery flicker projected thousands of gleaming dots on the cave walls. Had she had the time for it, she would have stopped to admire its beauty, but currently other things were on her mind. Josephine supposed that was how they had come here and consequently this had to be the only exit. She motioned with her head at it. "Let's get going," she finally let go of his hand and gave him a gentle nudge in the general direction of the portal. He obeyed begrudgingly. A pistol pointed to your head doesn't leave you with much to argue about.

She could hear William's call of protest from behind, followed by the sound of approaching steps. The echo of the cave amplified every noise and made it thereby virtually impossible to move without making a sound. Josephine threw a brief glance over her shoulder. It was enough to see the shocked and hurt expression in his eyes and the disapproving frown on his face. It stung her more than she was willing to admit, but with some effort she managed to suppress those feeling, "One step closer and I'll shoot him! Don't think I wouldn't do it."

Her threat did the desired effect. William froze on the spot and so did Elizabeth. She didn't even dare to look at her face, since she knew she would feel worse if she did. She had to ignore the weight of her conscience and the strong feeling of guilt for now. Too much was at stake.

"I know that this will sound insincere, but I'm truly sorry. I really don't want to do this, but I have to…," she paused briefly struggling with the more apologetic words that lay on the tip of her tongue and refused to come out. Angry with herself, her next words were a little harsher and callous than she had intended, "Oh, and by the way, you'd better not chase after us immediately," Josephine called out to them ere she ushered Jack through the portal. She didn't want to wait to find out their response to her apology, since she didn't expect them to accept it after all. It was just important to her, she had said it.

Seconds later they arrived at the Enterprise. An astonished murmur went through the crew when they saw her and Jack materialize out of thin air. When they noticed the pistol in her hand, their eyes grew even wider in incredulous shock. The only ones who didn't seem surprised were Tia and Barbossa. The voodoo priestess just stood there and watch the happenings unfold calmly. She only acknowledged their presence with a stern nod. Barbossa on the other hand, seemed to be able to still find something humorous about the whole situation. He threw them a sardonic grin, "Jack, I see you still have your way with the ladies. You're barely back from the dead and you've already managed to have a pistol pointed to your head. That's quite the accomplishment," he whistled through his teeth, then directed his attention towards Josephine, "Do I assume justly that you threaten to shoot him should we try to approach?" he asked casually.

"Indeed, Hector. I hope that doesn't put a damper on our friendship," it seemed bizarre she was worrying about hurt feelings at this point.

"Oh, quite the opposite, dear," Barbossa made a dismissive gesture with his hand as if he had just declined a cup of tea, "Threatening Jack with a pistol, well," he let out an impressed whistle, "that's something perfectly innocent in my eyes, Miss Beckett, but it's the rest of the crew you should be worrying about…"

He was right. It was high time they disappeared. Her heart was beating anxiously inside her chest, but she forced herself on. This had to be done. She finally overcame her hesitation, took a deep breath and let out a loud call, "Davy Jones! Davy Jones!" The other ship was now very closely by and she had no doubt that she had been heard. Her suspicion was shortly after verified when seconds later Davy Jones materialized out of thin air beside her.

The young woman shrank back in fear, when she saw him face to face for the first time. The ever-moving tentacles that were his beard, the cold eyes that seemed to penetrate her very soul – she could barely stand his sight. Josephine flinched back timidly when he stormed up to her and thundered, "What do you want?" She thought his wrath had already reached its peak, but when his eyes settled on Jack they seemed to blaze with a cold fire. Davy Jones let out an angry, frustrated roar.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Set sails," the commanding voice of Davy Jones reverberated over deck.

Josephine was feeling slightly dizzy like she spun around in circles too long. Davy Jones had just grabbed them unceremoniously. At that the familiar surroundings of the Enterprise had started to blur before her eyes and when the world came into focus again she found herself on board of Davy Jones's ship. She briefly threw a preoccupied glance in the direction of Jack. He was still there. His presence suddenly had a reassuring aspect to it, now that they were surrounded by a crew of creatures half men, half monster that eyed them curiously.

The young woman slowly raised herself to an upright position, the vertigo of the teleportation had almost forced her on her knees. She let out a pitiful moan, when the world suddenly spun around, only to come to a brutal and very sudden halt moments later. Davy Jones didn't give her any more time to adjust. Very much in the same temper as he had arrived at the Enterprise – infuriated and annoyed with having to obey somebody else's commands – he thundered at her, "What is it you want?"

Though her instincts told her to run and hide she managed to put on a brave face and actually speak after a few seconds. The pair of cold eyes that bore into her face presented an additional enticement. "Well, I have brought you Jack Sparrow… I expected that it would at least be a solid foundation to start negotiations on."

Quite obviously her words managed to amuse him. Loud laughter rang from his lips. Its sound had something frightening to it and managed to set her teeth on edge. "It appears you miscalculated. I've already got everything I wanted, what do you think you can offer."

"I'd second him on that. I've got to say that's been the worst abduction I've ever witnessed," Jack interjected off-beat, but was shortly after silenced by a glare from Davy Jones.

She managed a sour smile, "As it were, I thought this through quite thoroughly."

"Then you should start elaborating ere I or my men decide you're wasting our time," Davy Jones threatened and snapped his claw in front of her face in order to emphasize his point.

Josephine gulped heavily, "I've heard that lately you lost something of utmost value to you. It must be very frustrating to one's own master anymore," his growl told her she was on the right track, "I have ways and means to locate the heart and get it for you. Sparrow here will provide us with a reasonable excuse to return to Port Royal, where I understand your….master resides. He will want to assist his execution."

"It seems everyone is very helpful nowadays…Just a couple of days ago this young man, over there, offered to kill the man who has come into the possession of the heart," he stepped aside and thereby enabled her to see the whole of the deck. Immediately her eyes landed on Norrington. He seemed thinner, there were traces of a stubble on his unshaven chin and the dark circles under his eyes indicated he had spent many sleepless nights, but alas he was unharmed. There was a flare of recognition in his eyes and the hint of a twitch as he suppressed the urge to run to her and take her in his arms.

She could feel Davy Jones's curious eyes on her. Maybe he was already harbouring a suspicion and even if he didn't, Josephine assumed that he, the man who had forever sworn of love in the most extreme way possible, would kill them on the spot if he ever found out they were involved with each other. So she tried to ban all emotion from her face, though she wanted nothing more than to run over to James, feel his arms around her, his lips…like she had imagined it so often in the last couple days…It took all her effort to convincingly act as if he was merely some superficial acquaintance of her, who she didn't expect meeting in this place.

"Oh!" she hid her emotions behind this fake exclamation of surprise, "He's a friend of my brother's just saw him a couple of times. Norrington…yes, I believe that was his name," she looked at Davy Jones challengingly.

"Let's assume this sudden onrush of helpfulness is just coincidental," Davy Jones looked at her with squinted eyes, "what is it you hope to achieve by your proposal?"

"A lot of things….I want what is mine and I want my revenge," she was not the vengeful type, but something in her voice made her statement sound so convincing that it was hard to suspect artifice behind her words.

"What if anticipation overpowers me and I'll kill Sparrow before we arrive at Port Royal?" Jack winched at those words.

"That would be very unwise. Don't underestimate the power of a bruised ego. Sparrow will afford us considerable leverage, which will come handy once we've reached Port Royal. You wouldn't want to give that up."

"You're right…………, but the first sign that makes me suspect you try manipulating me, I'll kill the three of you," Davy Jones admonished her before he strode off to focus his attention on more important matters than dealing with puny humans.

Josephine just stood there for a while motionlessly. The aftermath of her conversation with Davy Jones and the events of last couple of hours forced her to briefly stop to collect herself. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Jack moving. She forcefully turned her head, even that small gesture seemed to take some effort, and saw him walking towards Norrington. She hesitated briefly, then followed him.

The presence of the crew was a persistent reminder of the fact that they were constantly under surveillance and should do nothing to set the captain off, so she tried to remain casual, even though her heart beat a little louder with each step she got closer to James.

"Commodore," Jack greeted the other man monosyllabically.

"Sparrow," Norrington's eyes narrowed unconsciously as the name passed his lips. He could only just resist the urge to tell him that he had been promoted to the rank of an admiral.

"How very odd to meet you here," Jack motioned at their surroundings, "I imagined you'd be having tea with that stuck-up little dwarf Beckett, all the while scheming and congratulating each other for getting your clutches on Davy Jones's heart. Seems you haven't played your cards right, old fellow," he grinned at him derisively, as he patted him on the shoulder comradely.

Norrington brushed of his hand with an expression of disdain, "Well, apparently not everybody gets what he deserves, as your presence proofs quite impressively. I thought you dead."

Josephine rolled her eyes at the two men's behaviour. Obviously the fact had managed to escape them, that they were quite literally surrounded by the enemy. Just as Jack Sparrow had opened his mouth to deliver another sarcastic repartee, she stepped between them. She watched Norrington intently whose eyes fixed his antagonist with animosity.

"James, please," Josephine said imploringly. She laid her hand on his arm in a calming gesture, then retracted it quickly as if it had been burned. She inwardly scolded herself for not being able to resist the urge to touch him, because she feared that once she started it, she could never stop.

Jack, in the meantime, watched the interchange between them interestedly. The way her voice softened, when she talk to the other man didn't escape him, but what was even more suspicious was the way Norrington reacted to her plea – he immediately complied and even muttered a rueful sorry.

When Josephine turned around to address Jack, there was a victorious grin on his face which seemed to be completely out of place given the situation. She quickly dismissed it, "Might I have a word with you, Jack?" the young woman asked politely. She didn't know how to behave around him, after all she had kidnapped him and manoeuvred him into a trap. It was very likely he held a grudge against her and she couldn't even blame him for it.

"How could I decline talking to a lovely girl like you?" he replied flirtatiously, partly because it was his second nature and partly because he knew he would upset Norrington with this comment. He had briefly considered being cross with Josephine for manoeuvring him into this situation, but his curiosity lured him into listening to what she had to say.

"Yeah, well….," Josephine said embarrassedly and motioned somewhat abruptly at the railing which was a few meters away from were they stood. Currently the crew was occupied with making way, so the interchange between the three captives was of relatively little interest to them.

Jack casually saunter past her and she followed hesitantly. He was leaning against the railing with an air of nonchalance and occupied himself with carefully inspecting his nails, as he waited for her to start talking.

"I have to apologize to you for dragging you into this," she lowered her head, "but you have to understand that there was no other way. And even if I hadn't done it you would have had to face Davy Jones and my brother sooner or later."

"You know I once had a girl in Tortuga," he flashed her a grin, "she was a charming creature. I was only a whelp back then…loved her to bits. Then after a night of love-making," Josephine blushed at his frankness, "she asks me innocently, 'Jack do you love me?' and I reply unsuspectingly, 'Aye, darling I do' so the little vixen convinces me to get her name tattooed on me arm, of course, a considerable amount of rum also played a part in the convincing…Turns out it was a very unwise decision. Even after she threw me out one day, I was stuck with her initials on my skin….Your brother fixed that, " he rolled up his sleeve to show her the burn mark on his skin.

"As much as your tale of your amorous conquest did regale me and I feel sorry for what Cutler did to you….The point of your story seems to be somewhat elusive," she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Alright, but there's a general theme, which hopefully didn't escape your notice."

"And what might that be?"

"The crazy things one does for love," he grinned at her smugly. "I suppose you'd be able to contribute a story of your own."

Her mouth set in a sour expression. She had wanted to tell him the truth, but on her own terms, "So you know that James and I are an item….," Josephine lowered her voice, so that no one around would hear. Unconsciously she looked over at Norrington, when she mentioned his name. The object of her affection was currently bussing himself with throwing her and Jack Sparrow dark glances. She could help but smile to herself as she continued talking, "He's a good man, despite of what his behaviour towards you may suggest. He made a foolish mistake, because he wanted his old life back…maybe his ambition blinded him to the consequences momentarily."

"I see, he's such a good man he managed to get us all into this mess," Jack deadpanned.

Josephine narrowed her eyes disapprovingly, "Let me see…," she pensively frowned and tipped her index finger against her temple, "Blast! I can't seem to remember…would you kindly help me out? Who was it that had made the deal with Davy Jones in the first place?"

"I get your point," Jack mumbled darkly.

"Apart from that, I think you both deserve your equal share in blame…."

"Oh, how very, very kind you should say so," he remarked sarcastically.

"Look," she sighed an massaged her temples tiredly, " This is all getting out wrong. I'm sorry for being mean…The last couple of days have been very stressful for me….I didn't want to insult you. You might actually be the one person in this world that understands why my brother has to be stopped," Josephine vaguely indicated the 'p' shaped burn on Jack's arm, "You're the only one who managed to best him and I'm hoping and praying that you'll manage a second time…"

"Just why do I suspect you've already elaborated a plan?"

"It's already unfolding, though not as smoothly as I hoped."

"It never does, love. It never does…," he wistfully looked out on sea, but his melancholic mood was as quickly gone as it appeared. "So?" he looked at her curiously.

"Cutler hates you, you know. Not a single day passes without your name being mentioned at least once."

"I never imagined I'd left such a deep impression. A man can't help but feel flattered," Jack smirked proudly.

"Anyways," she was smiling unbeknownst to her, when she continued, "I was counting on the fact that his desire for taking his revenge upon you would leave him blind on one eye, which would afford us the possibility to get the heart. And once we have it, we could turn Davy Jones against Cutler…," Josephine paused to see if he agreed with her plan so far.

"Keep going," he motioned her to continue with a wave of her hand.

"You're part would be basically to keep him stalling, irritate him, taunt him…do whatever you want as long it will provide us with the necessary distraction."

"How will you know where to look for the heart?"

"Tia taught me how to find it."

He paused briefly upon hearing the voodoo priestess's name mentioned. The fact that she had helped the young woman, ultimately tipped the scale in the Josephine's favour. "Tia…that's interesting…very interesting," Jack said enigmatically.

"So are you in?"

"Aye," he spit in the palm of his hand and held it out to her. She shook it without hesitation.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's note:** Hello, everyone, and thank you once again for reading my story and for leaving me so many nice reviews! You rock! Seriously!

Yesterday I finally wrote the ending of this story, so I'll be updating more frequently now...I'm not so sure about the next chapter though - I'm not going to tell you what it's about, but I'll tell you this much, I've never written anything like that so far, that's why I'm a little insecure about it (I've got to read it again before I'll post it and possibly re-write some passages) hence the shortness of this chapter. I hope you'll enjoy it nevertheless - Classic fluffiness :-) but don't get used to it, okay?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She didn't know how she had managed to survive this day, being so close to him and not being able to touch him or tell him how much she had missed him. Maybe she could risk talking to him now, that virtually the whole ship lay asleep. Josephine silently got to her feet and crept over to the place were James lay sleeping. Her eyes fell on his face first and she could see the glint of his eyes in the dark. Apparently he wasn't ablt to sleep either.

Josephine just stood there for awhile frozen in place, then simply pointed upwards with her index finger, signalling him she would meet him on deck. She saw him nod in the darkness, then she quickly turned to go.

The young woman hesitantly stepped out on deck, which appeared to be completely deserted. She wanted to make absolutely sure nobody would overlook their meeting, so she made a point out of checking thoroughly. The feeling of anticipation that had been building up over past week increased her nervousness and when she saw in climb the stairs that let up on deck, it felt like her heart would stop.

He walked up to her, a shy half smile on his face and stopped when he was only a step away from her. They just stood there momentarily, taking in each others sight. She looked a little rougher around the edges than last time he had seen her. The childlike softness that her features had exhibited had vanished, this was the face of a woman. A woman who knew what hard work meant and how to stand on her own to feet. Her gaze was no longer evasive. She could look you straight in the eye without feeling shy, without having to hide who she was. She bore herself upright, with her chin held high.

"You've changed," he said simply as he traced her cheek with the back of his hand.

Josephine tilted her head a little to the left, savouring the feeling of his caress. Her features softened, melting back into an expression he was familiar with. "Now what am I to read into this?" she asked with a gentle smile on her lips.

"You must excuse my ineptness with words. What I intend to say was…," he laughed softly at his own inability of expressing himself. "You're beautiful."

"Why thank you," her voice was low, very sensual and seemed to penetrate him to the bone. Josephine approached him with a Cheshire-cat like grin on her face. Her boldness baffled him and he made a step back. His retreat was stopped by the railing against his back.

He was not used to women making such bold advances, much less did he expect her that behaviour from her in particular. She had shed the shyness she had initially shown in her behaviour towards him, which made him wonder just how much about her had changed.

"Josephine, what are you doing?" he spluttered nervously. She had come so close he could feel her body press against his, which did not exactly enhance his capability of expressing himself. It did however inspire a sudden rush of indecent thoughts.

"James," she looked at him innocently from underneath her lashes, "You said you didn't have your way with words, so would you please refrain from using them now?"

Somehow Josephine's teasing words and her sudden proximity triggered a response that came as surprising to him as was to her. He abruptly pulled her closer, now purely running on instinct. She let out tiny yelp of surprise, the smile on her face, however, remained in place the entire time. When they kissed there was a passion…an intensity she hadn't believed him capable of showing. Her capability of forming coherent thoughts immediately vanished when he deepened the kiss.

The taste of him…the feeling of his stubble that rubbed against her smooth skin…her breath accelerated and her heart started racing. A sudden feeling of ecstasy, a pleasant dizziness overpowered her, but she didn't care. More, just more… if only she could get more of this.. She pulled him closer and buried her head in the crook of his neck as he kissed her throat. Is this lust? Is this sin? If it was she didn't care. No cares…just those wonderful feelings his touch inspired in her. She wanted them never to end…everything else could vanish in oblivion…oblivion…sweet oblivion.

He ran his hands through her hair, then they trailed down to the back of her neck. Somehow he knew just where to touch her, how to make her skin tingle with just one caress. She didn't care that his hands were rough, she didn't care that they were situation was momentarily less than dire, as long as he kissed her.

When their lips finally separated they just stood there in each other's embrace, basking in the aftermath of their kiss. Her knees felt wobbly and she was glad she could lean on him for support. When she looked around she believed to perceive everything as through a haze. The lights were dimmed, the contours less sharp. As if the world was covered by a veil.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you," she said and was surprised to find her voice didn't sound like hers at all. It had a husky quality to it and was lower than she remembered.

"Darling," she liked the way this endearment sounded from his lips, "I missed you, too….more than I can tell," he stroked the back of her head.

"This is all so very strange," Josephine's voice was barely above a whisper, "…so very strange. The oddest time, the oddest place…it's like the darkest place a fairy tale could go, but perhaps we are lucky, since they usually end well."

"We can only hope it will," the glum tone in his voice made her look at him.

"You have to believe in it, want it, because if you don't…" her voice faded away. All she that she could cling to was the hope that someday they would have all those simple things that fate momentarily deprived them of – the time to get to know each other more thoroughly, the opportunity to discover whether he truly was the man she believed and wished him to be. But what sense would be in all of this if he didn't share her hopes, if he didn't at least believe that their story could possibly have a happy ending?

"Josephine…," the way he pronounced her name sounded almost like a sigh. It made her stiffen in his embrace. She disentangled herself and looked had him with a frown. "You have to understand….the things I wanted the most, I never got," James tried to explain.

"Perhaps you just did not want them enough," she looked at him with her chin raised stubbornly. He wasn't fooled by her façade. It didn't escape his notice, however much she tried to hide it from him, that underneath her determined exterior there was a lot of frailty.

"That can clearly not be the case this time," he admitted softly. He could see the astonished look in her eyes. Maybe he had been to frank. Maybe his words had taken her by surprise and maybe he had made a fool of himself. After all this was almost a confession of love. Almost…he had never told any woman – apart from his late mother, of course – that he loved her. He was not a person that said one thing and meant the other, which naturally didn't make him a popular guest at dinner parties. He was civil, but his civility didn't not include adulation. Since the need to confess his love to anyone had never overcome him, those words never needed to be uttered. Almost…almost a confession of love…the word repeated in his head. Not quite so far away from the actual thing…

Josephine was not taken aback, quite the contrary. She stretched out her hand to caress his cheek, but in mid movement she froze. For the fraction of a second a lifetime of etiquette resurfaced from her conscious, but it quickly submerged again, when she looked in his eyes. Reason had no saying in this. What she felt could not be controlled or corrected by any rules. There was nothing theoretical about it, it was very real. Her fingers lowered on his skin. It felt unusually warm under her hand or maybe it was her hand that was cold. A wistful smile delineated on her face, " I'm just afraid how much I want this. I'm afraid of what I might do to have it," her voice was barely above a whisper, almost drowned out by the discreet sound of the waves, but yet he managed to hear every single syllable with absolute clarity.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's note: **As I said I have never written anything like this...hope it's not too disconcerting! (See, that's what people get just for kissing...no seriously I hope this isn't too dark. Well, if it's any consolation it doesn't get any darker than this.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A ship is like a house, once you lived on it for a certain amount of time, it becomes part of who you are. Though its ears and eyes may not be visible at first glance, they are there nevertheless. That's how Davy Jones knew. He knew that they had lied to him, that they tried to manipulate him. His tentacles intoned a tempestuous crescendo on the organ. It didn't come as a surprise to him. The fact that the girl travelled in the company of Jack Sparrow was already an indication of her foul character.

He knew all about the depravities of mankind, mainly because he had witnessed them in all of its exponents that crossed his path. Nothing could surprise him or cause him to feel revulsion, except for one thing – love in all its forms and varieties.

So the insolent, wide-eyed girl and the courageous Englishmen were lovers. That was the reason for his foolish bravery, the reason she dared to set foot on his ship. Davy Jones's face contorted in something akin to a devious smirk. The arrogance! They thought they could fool him, of all people! He knew all about love and had decided at one point in his life that he wanted to know nothing more of it. He had seen its true face. Behind a polished porcelain masked, whose features were ever-smiling, always serene, lurked utmost ugliness and decay. Pain, despair, jealousy, blind passion – love was the box of Pandora. Once it was opened all sorts of horrors escaped from it. He had been cured. Thank….God? No, not God, he had ceased to be responsible for him a long time ago. He had orchestrated his own salvation and therefore was his own master. He ruled over his kingdom, this ship, with wisdom and a firm hand. Nothing could distract his keen mind, he had become deaf to the tedious whisper of emotions like love, mercy or affection. Once and for all…once and for all.

The tentacles rested for a second on the keys. He could feel their surface. It was cool, calming…the yellowed ivory, not so pure any more, but eternal. So they thought they could fool Davy Jones? How they must have enjoyed this feeling of superiority. Maybe it let them to believe that their secret meeting on deck would not be discovered. He remembered how arrogant love had made him feel. His claw slammed down on the keys and produced a cacophony of sounds.

They disgusted him! They deserved to suffer. Worse than anybody else in this universe. He would enjoy it like a full-bodied red wine, like an aria sang by a talented soprano, but he was getting ahead of himself….he needed them, because something very crucial had been taken away from him – the freedom to make his own decision. He was reduced to being a mere puppet, a lackey who followed orders. It was against his nature…he had not cut out his heart, because he was some pitiful wimp, who couldn't live with the devastating defeat of being rejected by the woman he loved….quite the contrary. It had been a conscious decision, that allowed him to free himself of a burden, so he could do whatever he pleased. He had simply decided that love was not meant for him and that it could be easily traded in for more power and ultimate freedom.

He wanted his freedom back! He wanted to punish them, kill them and make them suffer like the worst sinners suffered in hell, but not just yet. For now he would have to content himself with a rather lenient form of punishment…torture. They would both live, but whish they were dead.

When he stepped out on deck the next morning, he was in unusual good mood. Some of the crew noticed the smile on his face, it was a strange blood curling sight comparable to dark clouds and lightning before a devastating tempest. When Davy Jones smiled usually people died. This time though he had to settle for the next best thing. "Bring me the girl and the Englishmen," he told his first mate who had sensed his captain's vigour and was now hurrying to accommodate his wishes.

A few seconds later the two prisoners were dragged before him. The girl struggled wildly, while her companion appeared to be more calm and collected. "I thought we had an agreement," she hissed at him accusingly. As on cue Sparrow arrived at the sight, followed by Bill Turner. Apparently they had been in conversation, when his two fellow prisoners were let away by the first mate. The pirate craned his neck to see what happened, but kept in the background otherwise. A wise decision.

"We had an agreement alright," Davy Jones answered calmly.

"So?" Josephine raised her chin at him challengingly. "I can stand on my own," she snarled over her shoulder at the first mate. The sole consequence of her words was she could feel his vicelike grip tighten around her slim wrists. If she was in any pain it didn't show on her face. She was a brave little girl – a spitfire, probably too much to handle for that Englishman anyway. Perhaps he was doing them a favour if he killed them once he had gotten what he wanted.

"What can I say? Perhaps that I'm disappointed? Yes, I suppose that sums it up appropriately….I am disappointed you thought me so utterly stupid and easy to manipulate. Didn't you think I would find out sooner or later that the two of you are lovers?" he could see her pale noticeably at his words. The man briefly closed his eyes, then averted his head. When he looked up again his jaw was set in determination. Davy Jones took his time to savour their reaction to his revelation.

"How did you…how did you know?" the girl asked quietly. Her voice was slightly quivering. Now she was suddenly not so strong anymore. Oh, how much pleasure this would afford him!

"You were seen last night."

"There must be a mistake…," Jack Sparrow tried to interfere, obviously he was trying to help his companions.

"If you want to reach Port Royal alive, you better keep out of this," Davy Jones gave him a pointed glance, that caused the pirate to immediately shrink back into the crowd of onlookers.

"I'm painfully aware of the fact that your services are still needed…," here he inserted a dramatic pause, "so I will have to settle for torturing you instead of killing you," the crew cheered at his words.

"You won't lay a finger on her," this time the Englishmen had decided to speak up. There was a determined sparkle in his eyes and Davy Jones could tell that he was serious.

"Oh, but I never intended to. There are more ways to torture a person than just hurting them physically, Admiral Norrington," the title rolled ironically from his tongue. "However, when it comes to you…well, I'll just settle for letting the bosun whip you."

"Don't…I promise I'll do anything you ask for…I swear…if you just spare him," the girl pleaded with him. It was really pathetic. He could literally reek the despair on her.

"I'm afraid you have nothing to offer in which I would have even the slightest interest," he looked at her disdainfully. "but if you play your part in this the way you're supposed the poor Admiral won't have to suffer too much."

He could see the struggle on her face, the question gaze she threw her lover as if he could help her now, then she finally answered resignedly, "What do you expect me to do?"

"I merely want you to watch, but if I hear the slightest sound coming from your mouth, see even a single tear fall from your eyes, it'll mean one more strike with the whip for your lover, which the bosun will be all too happy to administer….So do we have an agreement?" she dimly registered the sarcasm in his words, but nodded dejectedly nevertheless.

"I didn't hear you!" Davy Jones thundered loudly.

"Yes, sir," she said with a frail voice.

"How many, Captain?" the bosun asked eagerly.

"Eight strikes."

The scene had something surreal to it. They ripped open his shirt. She could see his white skin underneath, untouched by the sun, unmarred. Her eyes curiously rested on his chest with a certain fascination, despite the inappropriateness of the situation. It was the first time she saw him with his shirt of, something close to being naked. It was not a private moment. Not even this was like it was supposed to be, but she had no time to dwell on this thought for too long.

Their eyes met briefly. The intensity in his gaze almost frightened her. What she read in it was not fear, but determination. He was going to face this for her. He would face worse for her. That was what he wordlessly told her with his gaze. She nodded at him in acknowledgement, a comparatively small gesture, but what else could she do?

He was brutally hauled around and tied up on a wooden cross that was already sullied with blood from his predecessors. When the bosun raised his arms to gather force for the first strike, something inside of her congealed. It was like her heart ceased to beat for a second. Time seemed to slow down painfully as the whip connected with his skin. He flinched, a sharp intake of breath, but no cry. A red streak formed on his back. A red streak…red, red, red. It spread on his back, the outline of the whip. Then it changed colour to a deeper burgundy colour - there was blood.

She could almost feel Davy Jones's eyes on her, so she tried not to let her emotions show on her face. All she wanted to do was scream, cry, rip the whip out of the bosun's hands and strike him with it, but she could do none of those things. All she could stand idly by and watch.

He flinched again as the whip hit him the second time. Still no sound came from his lips. _Three drops of blood on white snow_. She did not know where that thought suddenly came from, but she clung to it, because maybe it would distract her so she could bear playing her part this cruel spectacle Davy Jones had devised. _Three drops of blood fell on snow_. The whip lashed out again. _They looked so pretty and innocent upon the snow white_. Again the dreadful sound of the whip hissing through the air. She was watching, but not really watching retreating further into the memory of a fairy tale she had read as a child. _A few weeks later the woman had a child whose skin was as white as snow and whose lips_…red…red…blood. She blinked, but still there were no tears in her eyes. If she allowed herself to cry he would suffer more, because of her. She would not allow this to happen. So she waited for this to be finally over.

When it finally was, she hurried over to James, but not before she had thrown Davy Jones one last lingering glance. He knew very well how to interpret this stare, because he had only recently received it from a young man by the name of William Turner. It held the heartfelt promise of revenge and seething hatred. He let her hurry to her lover's side and take care of him. With a nod to the crew he dismissed them. The crowd slowly dissipated and he retreated to his quarters. Witnessing them being torture hadn't afforded him the pleasure he had expected it would. What he felt was nothing.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The bosun regretfully undid the ties of the prisoner. He had not even started properly and it was already over. The girl was suddenly there. The expression in her eyes frightened him. He had never seen anything like it, though he had spent many years on board of this ship whose sight alone was already blood-chilling to most people. He hurried to get away.

Josephine froze as she looked down on James's back. The whip had carved into it a pattern of red streaks, some bleeding, but surely all of them very painful. She saw his muscles flex, as he tried to stand up and was quickly at his side.

"Darling, I'm here," she whispered to him and briefly caressed his cheek. Her palm was consolingly cool. "Let me take care of you," she said softly and he thankfully lay an arm around her shoulder for support. He got to his feet and swayed slightly. A feeling of light-headedness suddenly overcame him, so he had to lean on her with all his weight. He immediately felt sorry for it, but he had no other choice. She was struggling momentarily, afraid to fall, then Jack came to her aid.

"Let me give you a hand," he offered, but his attempt to assist her was rather hesitant at first. Both men stared at each other. Apparently those few moments sufficed to let them come to some kind of silent understanding. Jack slung the other man's arm over his shoulder. This gesture was as casual as ever, but its significance ran much deeper than his nonchalant behaviour let suspect. It was the foundation of a truce.

They hoppled over to a barrel that stood there in the corner, aside from the busy activity on deck. It lay in the shadow and allowed a certain amount of privacy. They sat him down there.

"Thanks," she said breathily and smiled at Jack who just tipped his three cornered hat in response.

"Anytime," he said simply and turned to take off.

"Jack, wait! I need something to clean the wounds…." she had said it as if he knew where to get something to disinfect them with! As if she automatically assumed he always had a flask of rum on him! He had half a mind to be cross with her, but then thought better of it. Considering what she had just been through, he might as well be nice and do as she had asked. He begrudgingly reached into his pocket and produced a flask, but ere he handed it to her he briefly swivelled it to make sure it was still full.

"There you go," he said gruffly.

"Thank you," she briefly squeezed the hand in which he had held the flask only moments ago, looking him deeply in the eye to emphasize how much his gesture meant to her.

"You're welcome, love," he grinned at her with the satisfaction of having done a good deed and strode off.

"I'm impressed. You're even getting a pirate to grow a conscience," James remarked weakly from behind her. She quickly turned to look at him. It was the first time he had spoken since…since the whipping. His paleness and the sweaty shimmer on his forehead told her that he was not well, but somehow he seemed determined to overplay it with a witty comment.

Josephine dignifiedly ignored his remark, "Are you…," she quickly caught herself. It was rather foolish to ask a man in his situation whether he was alright, "I-I'll get you shirt."

"Alright," he said weakly. She threw him a worried look, then disappeared quickly, to return seconds later with his shirt in her hands.

"I'm going to clean your wounds," she sounded like she was giving herself an instruction. He only nodded dimly at her words. Her eyes briefly landed on his hands. They were grabbing the edge of the barrel and held on so tightly his knuckles were protruding and had turned white in the process. He had to be in a lot of pain. She gulped heavily.

Josephine rounded him and got to her knees to inspect the wounds on his back. Inside of her anger and frustration threatened to unleash as she saw how deep the whip had cut, but none of it showed on her face. It was still as if Davy Jones watched her. For some reason she just couldn't bring herself to show any emotion whatsoever.

With a quick and forceful movement she ripped the sleeve of his shirt. The fabric tore with a loud noise, then, almost mechanically, she drenched it in alcohol. Josephine hesitated briefly, "This is probably going to hurt," she said apologetically. Her hand with the damp cloth still hovered over his skin, waiting for his answer.

He could hear a hint of agitation in her voice, so he tried to calm her with his words. "It's alright. Do what you have to."

And so she went to work. Her touch was very gentle, as if she was afraid he would break if she applied to much pressure. That he tensed each time, she dabbed the alcohol on the wounds, added to her insecurity. Two conflicting thoughts overcame her. She didn't want to cause him any further pain, yet she knew that this had to be done or else the cuts would get infected…

But she couldn't help but wonder whether she was she doing everything right. What if she wasn't doing it properly? What if the wounds got angry a few days later? He could die of traumatic fever…No, this was nonsense – it was her insecurities talking, but nevertheless the danger existed and she was having a hard time ignoring it, though it was only very remote possibility.

Her vision started to blur. Josephine quickly wiped her teary eyes with the back of her hand. Why did she have to cry now? This was the most inopportune moment…she had a job to do…she had to take care of him like she promised. It was like a vicious cycle - her disappointment in herself caused more of those pesky tears to well up. She sniffled a little, but continued her task.

"Are you alright?" James asked with a preoccupied tone in his voice. He could feel her hands tremble on his back. That and the sharp intake of breath that followed his question told him that she was in fact far from being alright.

"Yes, it's…it's nothing," Josephine lied ineptly. She tried to control herself, but managed only partly. Still silent tears ran down her cheeks, but she continued her work.

"Liar," he said simply and turned to face her. He winched as the cuts on his back announced their presence by emitting a wave of fresh pain, but chose to ignore it. His eyes searched her face and immediately registered the tears that trailed down her cheeks. He tenderly brushed them away with his thumb. She just looked up at him with wide eyes. Her vision became blurry, when more tears gathered in her eyes. Looking at him and crying, seemed to be all she could do, since she had somehow run out of words in the last couple of hours. She still held the bloodied cloth clutched in one hand, the flask of rum in the other.

There was no way he could make this situation right with only the help of consoling words, however much he wanted. He could not lie to her and promise that everything would turn out alright, since there was no guarantee they would get out of this alive. Apart from that she deserved better than hearing white lies for comfort.

There was only one security he had right now, the one thing he could tell her that was true. Maybe it was not consoling, maybe it was not what she wanted to hear right now, but he had to confide in her, especially under these circumstances – despite the circumstances.

"Josephine…I have something to tell you, which until now I have not dared to say…," he started somewhat over-dramatically.

Despite her tears and the situation she had to laugh a little at his choice of words, " I think we're very much past formalities, dear," Josephine told him with a sad little smile on her lips.

"I'm aware of that," James smiled back at her, his aching wounds momentarily forgotten, "but… I have never told anybody…there was never a woman I felt for the way I do for you…those feelings…they are hard to describe…," he said somewhat clumsily. "What I'm trying to say and that very inarticulately, I fear, is that…I love you, Josephine."

For a second she didn't say anything. She downcast her eyes and licked her lips. "James…," her voice was very mellow and fragile at the same time. Then she paused as if she was searching for the right words and it occurred to him that that never was a good sign. In fact it always was the harbinger of rejection. James braced himself for the next words to come, because he feared they would hurt more than the marks the bosun's whip had left on his back.

"Maybe it were better you did not," she said and fresh tears shimmered in her eyes, when she looked up at him, "because then none of this would have happened," she looked down on the bloodied cloth in her hands.

"I do not regret anything…not a single thing. It could happen all over again and I would not care as long as…," he paused and his sentence hung there in the air unfinished.

"I don't want to do this to you. I don't want to put you through this, if that is what we have to do to be together…maybe there's worse to come. Who knows what we'll have to face once we arrived at Port Royal. My brother…"

"I don't care," he said firmly.

"What do you mean you don't care?" Josephine looked at him incredulously, "I thought you were the sensible one of us," she added almost accusingly, "I can barely stand this," she rubbed her hands on her trousers. There was blood on them – his blood. "What if the worst should happen…what if you should die?" her last words were barely above a whisper.

"Believe me, I'm very determined not to," he managed an encouraging half-smile.

"James," again she said his name. It was as if she was holding on to it, as if it gave her comfort and calmed her. "I do not merely worry for you…it's more than that…far more. This goes beyond sympathy. 'I feel for you' seems to be such a weak phrase in comparison. Those wounds inflicted on you…they pain me, too. The pain as much as being with you makes me happy," she took a deep breath. It took a lot of courage to tell him this, "as much as seeing you gives sense to my days."

The tense expression on his face slowly melted away as he realized what her words meant. It had become infinitely more tender and equally more vulnerable. This was him at his most honest in a moment he was more himself than at any other time. "Josephine," his voice trembled ever so slightly, "am I allowed to hope then?"

Only then, when she looked at him, looked at him with his soul bared to her, she realized who he truly was. She saw a passionate, kind, yet shy man, who had been bruised by life every time he had let his true character shine trough from underneath a façade that had become his second skin. He touched her deeply, more deeply than anything or anybody ever had managed to in her life. It was not compassion. She recognized a kindred soul.

"Have you not been listening?" her voice was very soft and emotional. "Have you not heard a single word I was saying?...James, I love you…passionately…insanely... very unwisely…deeply."

"You love me…," he repeated as if he was having trouble wrapping his mind around this foreign concept. Slowly, very slowly and tentatively a smile spread on his face and to his astonishment he had to acknowledging one thing. The thought alone was paradox in itself – despite the direness of the situation, the multiple aching wounds on his back and the prospect of impeding doom, he was for once in his life happy.


	19. Chapter 19

Barbossa was leaning on the stirring wheel of the Enterprise. It was the middle of the night and the rest of the crew was sleeping, if you could call this handful of people a crew. They had sat a new course in pursuit of the Flying Dutchman. Of course, it was not really a pursuit. He felt strangely reminded of the famous fable of the hare and the tortoise who had decided to race each other. He let out an ironic snort. Luckily they had a vague idea where Davy Jones was headed or else they would have lost them. This would have never happened if they still had the Pearl, but Jack, the brainless twit, had naturally managed to sink his ship. His ship…if only he could get it back…but alas this was not to be.

So it was Port Royal again. He raised an eyebrow, then threw an eye on his compass and corrected the course accordingly. It felt like they were running around in circles. It was only a few days ago they had left there. Apart from discovering the senselessness of their endeavour, he had come to hate this tiny Caribbean port from the depths of his heart in the last couple of years. Nothing good had ever come of it, whenever he had anchored there. That's where he had first picked up the pesky Miss Swann. The word parley came from her mouth like a salve and somehow she had dazzled him into granting it. The end of it that he was dead and Jack had managed to outwit him. Of course, this was the vastly edited version of his tale. Anyways, it had all started at Port Royal and that he was going there again, didn't sit well with him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You said you were able to locate the heart…," Davy Jones remarked, staring down Josephine in a patronizing way. "Let's see if you're worth your keep," he threw an admonishing gaze at Jack Sparrow and Norrington. The Englishman seemed to have grown a spine in the meantime. Despite the fact that he had received a whipping from the bosun he didn't cower in front of him, quite the contrary. He stood tall and proud and what he read in his eyes even managed to amuse him a little. He had no doubt, had this young man had a weapon he would have tried to murder him with it.

"I said I could do it and I will," Josephine crossed her arms over her chest in defiance.

"Then you'd better hurry up, because in a couple of hours we'll arrive at Port Royal."

"Alright, but I need a few things for the locator spell," she answered matter-of-factly.

Only after this explanation her requests were readily obeyed and about half an hour later she was shoved into a Spartan little cabin with the encouraging words, "You've got half an hour. This better work or I'll rip out your heart and feed it to the sharks."

Josephine shivered a little as the imagery unfurled before her inner eye and felt a surge of relieve as the door closed behind her. She walked to the middle of the room and spread out the bizarre array of ingredients which were necessary to perform the spell in front of her. Three candles, salt, a piece of chalk, a knife…it had taken a lot of convincing to get it, but in the end Davy Jones had relented, probably because she couldn't do much damage with it anyway, since the crew and him were nearly invincible.

She stared at the objects in front of her for a second. Her mind was for a while completely blank. It was the first time she was ever alone in days, and this numbness of thought felt actually rather pleasant. So she dived right into it, let herself submerge in it. Underneath it, though, soon something began to stirr. It felt cold and it almost choked her. She couldn't allow herself to reflect about what happened the last couple of days, she had to go on or she wouldn't be able anymore to muster the necessary amount of strength if she stopped now.

Josephine reached for the chalk and carefully drew a circle around herself. When she was done she placed the three candles on the cardinal points, south was left free, of course, since it was reserved for the all-seeing eye. A very impressive title for the humble chalk drawing she had made. She ignited the candle one after the other, whispering to herself the incantation, Tia had taught her. The long-stretched vowel sounds of a strange and foreign language chained together like a melody. Josephine had remembered the incantation like one remembered a song. She had tried to memorize the rhythm and melody of its words. It wasn't even necessary she knew what she was saying, all that counted was the effect these words had and there definitely was an effect. She could already feel it working. A shiver ran down her back, nevertheless she continued.

Her hand reached into the sack that contained the salt. She could feel the grainy sand like substance run through her fingers, then she pulled out her hand to draw another smaller circle with the salt. This was the easy part of the ritual.

What came next required a bit of courage. Her fingers lay around the handle of the knife, almost one by one. Josephine grabbed a strain of her dark hair and cut it off without hesitation. Her appearance was currently of little importance to her. She placed the hair beneath the all-seeing eye.

The aim of this spell, despite of what she had said previously was not to locate the heart, but its current possessor. That was why her hair and her blood was needed to perform the ritual correctly. She lay the blade of the knife in the palm of her hand. For a while it rested there motionlessly. The metal felt cool against her skin, almost comforting. She was currently very sensitive, very much open to the sensations her environment provided, which made the next step even more difficult. Josephine slowly increased the pressure of the blade against her skin and then after a brief moment of hesitation quickly executed the cut. She let out a muffled cry of pain and though her eyes were misting over she pressed her bloody palm to the spot beside the strain of hair.

Again she intoned the incantation, but this time its effects were immediately palpable. A cold draft swept through the room and blew out the candles. Curling lines of smoke rose ceaselessly from the wicks as if the flame was still struggling, not wanting to relent and end its existence. Sweat formed on her forehead, blood trickled from the wound on her palm, her eyes were half closed. The air in the cabin was suddenly hot and humid.

Foreign images and sensations invaded her consciousness against her will. It was almost like an violation and she had to brace herself in order to not be overwhelmed by these feverish visions. As through a drunken haze she saw hands that were not her own, masculine hands. They were closing something…perhaps a safe. Yes, it was a safe. There was a tiny golden key. It shimmered in the light and felt like it was important…important to remember. It hung from a delicate chain which she placed around her….yes, around her neck, so it was hidden well underneath her shirt. She stepped up to the mirror to check her appearance. There was a laugh on her face, no, not her face at all – Cutler's face and then she laughed. Oh, how she laughed! It had something bestial to it, the sound was distorted, dark and frightening coming from far, far away.

The forms elongated and contorted, distorted to the point of not being recognizable anymore. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she swayed from side to side. Instinctively she reached for her head as if to check if she was having a fever, if this was nothing but a feverish dream. She brushed the cold sweat away and suddenly there she was again. The plain, barren cabin of the Flying Dutchman almost seemed to deride her. It seemed like nothing unusual could ever happen inside here, but it just had. The candles had burned down, but since no one had barged in to get her, she assumed the half hour they had conceded her hadn't passed yet.

Groggily she got to her feet and made a point out of blurring the lines of the circle with her foot. She bent down to collect the hair from the floor and meticulously wiped away the blood on the floor boars. They were parts of her and she could not leave them behind, now that she knew what power they held. The prospect that someone found them and therefore would be able to cast a spell on her was simply to frightening.

Only after that she stepped out of the door, the light of day blinding her momentarily. Out of the searing luminary came a dark voice that questioned her impatiently, "What have you seen?" She told him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was not at all pleased with this arrangement, but it was not like he was in a position to do anything about it.

The Flying Dutchman had anchored at Port Royal and while he had been able to see busy little dots scurry around at the harbour from afar, doubtlessly the usual crowd of merchants, sailors and dockers, it was now completely deserted. Usually an oddity, such as this ship certainly was, attracted curiosity, but the inhabitants of this little town knew better. Since the Pearl's attack on Port Royal they had become distrustful. Doubtlessly they had all barricaded themselves inside their homes. The only ones to greet their arrival was a squadron of navy officers.

He gulped heavily, his Adams apple popping up and down and threw on last look at Josephine. She stood beside Davy Jones, who in turn eyed him with a mixture of triumph and amusement. He would never forget the way she looked – so small, helpless and fragile – and it made his heart ache for her. Her eyes met his and so much transpired between them only conveyed by looks. He could sense her frustration and helplessness at being condemned to being only an idle bystander as the plot thickened. She broke their eye contact, looking down almost ashamedly, her face contorted in a mask of silent despair. It was more than just frustration that nagged at her, he realized, she was afraid. Maybe afraid for him. She had admitted she was when he had confessed her his love…afraid that he wouldn't come back.

He wanted nothing more than to go to her and tell her that everything would be alright, but he couldn't. Davy Jones's presence strictly forbid it, so he had to limit himself to only nodding at her in reassurance. After what seemed to be an eternity, though it were only a few moments, he turned around and debarked the ship, Sparrow right on toe.

Norrington wore his uniform again and noticed the soldiers responding immediately at it. Apparently they had been informed of his coming, otherwise they wouldn't be here. The men saluted in front of him which caused the corners of his mouth to briefly twitch ironically.

"Admiral," the young captain, who let the squadron, barked out as a greeting a little too vigorously as he approached. The ridiculousness of the whole ceremony suddenly occurred to him as he looked into his clean shaven, serious face.

"Captain," he gave him a brief nod, "I came baring gifts," he indicated the prisoner behind him with a nudge of his head.

Sparrow flashed a sour grin at the rookie officer, raising his tied up hands, "I don't like the wrapping."

"It is of no consequence to me whether you like your treatment or not Mr. Sparrow," the suppressed acuteness of his tone reminding of a time that seemed an eternity ago, though it had been only three years, "I suppose you will prefer the rope around your wrists to the noose around your neck, which will undoubtedly be lain around it in only a few hours."

"Shall we escort the prisoner to his cell, Admiral?" the captain asked eager to please. He couldn't help, but be impressed with his superior's handling of the criminal.

"Not yet, I'm sure his lordship would like to have a word with him ere he's locked away….a personal matter, you know," he added with an air of confidentiality.

"Of course, I'll dispatch two men," he waved the chosen duo over to them, "to accompany you to his lordship's estate."

Though the presence of the two men did nothing to ease the unfolding of the plan, as a matter of fact Norrington was already trying to come up with a plan of how to dispose of them, but he didn't protest in order not to raise any suspicions. With a nod of his head he bid the other man goodbye and the little group started its way to Cutler Beckett's mansion.

The sun was slowly setting at the horizon and as he looked out on the sea he believed to see a tiny black dot dance on top of the waves. Maybe it was just his imagination. He dismissed the thought quickly and continued his way. Sparrow was walking beside him; he threw him a meaningful glance, and then looked back at the two soldiers who followed them, their faces witless, impassive masks. The pirate slowly nodded at him and a lopsided grin flashed over his face.

"Once we will have arrived at the mansion, we won't be needing your services anymore," Norrington called out to the men over his shoulder. He hadn't said this out of thoughtfulness, but in order to discretely tell Sparrow when to get rid of their watchdogs.

The mansion lay a little uphill and slowly rose before them against the light of the setting sun boastful as a gothic cathedral. In front of the estate soldiers patrolled dutifully. He hadn't expected otherwise. Confronting Beckett without being caught would be a challenging endeavour, but their escape would be even more difficult, if not impossible.

Once they stepped across the threshold memories flooded his conscience. Here he had first met Josephine, so many memories were connected to this place made their presence known via a strange mixture of euphoria and dread. Here their faith would ultimately decide. He interrupted his dark musings to address the two soldiers.

"Though our arrival was obviously expected, I don't want to barge in unannounced. It's strikes me as very ill-mannered," Norrington told the men as the arrived at the bottom of the stairs that let up to Beckett's study, "So it would be best if you two went ahead," he stepped aside to grant them precedence.

His behaviour did not appear strange to the unfortunate men, who were unaware of stumbling into a trap. His request was only proof of his fine manners and so they proceeded up the stairs unsuspectingly, while Norrington and Sparrow followed them suit. After they had arrived at the top and he had made sure they were alone in the corridor, James slowly nodded at the pirate. At this they both jumped into action.

Norrington pressed one hand tightly over the nose and the mouth of the officer in front of him, while he held the struggling man by the throat with the other so that he couldn't escape. Though he recoiled inwardly at his own actions, he didn't let go until the soldier had stopped squirming under his vicelike grip and sank to the floor lifelessly. For a second he looked at his hands disgustedly. He had just killed a man, a fellow soldier, a brother in arms in the most brutal way imaginable to him. It had been far too personal for his taste and the violence of it made him recoil.

He wiped the dead man's saliva from his hand and then slowly raised his head to look at Jack who was standing over the sprawled form of the other unfortunate soldier. He had used his ties to strangle him as the angry red marks around his victim's necks told him. "We have to hide the bodies," Norrington said matter-of-factly. He indicated the room next to him, "This is Josephine's room. I don't think they will be looking there."

"I don't suppose your girl will be pleased we're dumping two dead bodies inside her room," Jack quipped as Norrington untied his hands.

"Definitely not pleased, but I certainly have no intention of telling her," he said darkly. He didn't suppose a grim tale of bloodshed and murder would particularly regale Josephine. He quickly dismissed the thought of her; mainly to be able to go threw with the plan. A cool and rational mind was needed; emotions were only a risky hindrance now.

He and Jack busied themselves with obliterating the evidence of the fight, heaving the bodies inside the room. They hid them underneath the bed, but not ere they had relieved them of their weapons.

"We're lucky if we get out of this alive," Jack said while he pensively weighted the sword in his hand, "Tell me again: why are we doing this?"

"You need to settle scores, I need to get back to the woman I love," Norrington told him sternly. His choice of words was more frank than usual, but the extremeness of the situation did not allow him to filter what he was saying. All his energy was set on accomplishing his task and therefore there was none to spare for worrying about revealing too much about oneself. He also needed to make Sparrow understand that this was much too important and that he would not let him back out of it now.

"Just checking," as Sparrow smirked at him ironically and a little bit of the old dislike towards him flared up in James, "So you've finally found a girl, mate. I think congratulations are in order!" he forwarded his hand, but Norrington only stared down at it incredulously. Jack retracted it with a callous shrug, "I'm just saying…it was about time you wooed a girl. With all this time spent aboard of a ship surrounded by only men, I was half expected you to be…well…," he let the rest of the sentence hang in the air provocatively. His grin broadened as an indignant look spread on Norrington's face.

An acerbic answer already lay on the tip of James's tongue, but instead he chose a more disarming retort, "I'll politely overhear that comment and attribute it to jealousy. I suppose there's no one waiting for you after this is over."

Upon seeing Jack's response to his words he almost felt sorry he had said them, "Women…can't love them, can't live with out them. A fellow can get used to being slapped in the face, but being stabbed in the back is a whole different matter, especially when it's someone you trusted, but no use crying over spilled milk, eh?" he said lightly, trying to cover the bitterness behind his words

Norrington's eyebrows rose comically in realization. The only woman in Sparrow's life, the only one he could think of was a certain governor's daughter who had once broken his heart, too, "Elizabeth?" his voice rose a pitch in the middle of saying her name, thanks to his astonishment.

"Aye, the very same," Jack admitted finally after a moment of hesitation and Norrington couldn't help but feel a bang of sympathy for the other man. He could remember only too well what his unrequited love for that Elizabeth had managed to reduce him to.

"Happens to the best of us," he smiled in self-irony, "…but on that note, once you hit the bottom it only gets better from there, mate. Trust me," he gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder.

Now where had that come from? Sparrow looked astonished and to be honest so was he. They had been something akin to archenemies for the last couple of years, but somehow along the way the feeling of hatred towards Sparrow had gradually dissolved, maybe because there were worse people in the world than him. Once he had spent so much time trying to catch someone, analysing his motives and trying to anticipate his next move you got to know your prey prettily well. He had seen through his façade. Sparrow was a trickster, a thief and a liar, but at least he had something akin to a conscience. What he did, he did only in order to survive, but never at the expense of someone he cared about. In a way his behaviour could even be considered as honourable. This assumption was certainly a matter of perspective, but there were worse men in this world than Captain Jack Sparrow, men like Cutler Beckett.

"Well, I suppose we should hurry, after all we've got an appointment I don't like us to miss," Norrington's words implied at the bargain they had struck with Davy Jones. It wasn't really a bargain as such. The term blackmail described it much more accurately. He had sent out Norrington and Sparrow in order to retrieve the heart from Beckett and kill him. If they weren't able to accomplish the task within three hours, Davy Jones would murder Josephine. He had tried to suppress every thought of it up until now, though he was still very painfully aware of every minute, every second that expired. The pressure resting on him transformed into something else, which gave him the strength to carry on and fuelled a deep felt hatred against the man who had brought them into this position – Cutler Beckett.

"You remember your part, Sparrow? You're the prisoner," he tied up his hands again, only this time very loosely, so that he would have no problem slipping out of it. "He does trust me, thinks he has me under his power, so he won't be suspecting my betrayal. We have to keep him stalling, wait for the opportune moment and then strike. Agreed?"

"Agreed," the pirate answered. "Still don't like being bait," he complained.

"Acknowledged," Norrington said exasperatedly.

They snuck out on the corridor and made their way to Beckett's study without any further complications. James inhaled deeply before he knocked at the heavy two-winged door and as the reply came from inside he straightened his back, buffed his chest and pushed open the door vigorously. It smashed with a loud thud against the wall. At that Beckett jump to his feet in alarm, then his eyes settled on Sparrow and a satisfied smile started delineating on his face.

Norrington shoved the pirate inside unceremoniously who stumbled over his own feet and landed face first on the Persian tapestry that lay in the middle of the study. Fortunately his fall was cushioned by its soft fabric. A pair of polished shoes with buckles invaded Jack's vision shortly after and he wrinkled his nose disgustedly as he looked up. Beckett stood over him with a triumphant grin on his face.

"What a pleasant surprise you brought me, Admiral!" Beckett exclaimed.

"It was very difficult to procure," Norrington answered coolly as he taxingly watched the other man.

"I thought as much," Beckett started circling Jack like a predator an injured animal, oblivious to the hateful gaze that bore into his back. The belief that his enemy was now at his mercy inspired a surge of cruel satisfaction inside of him and made him blind to his surroundings. Whatever feeling of superiority he might have experienced however vanished when Jack got to his feet.

The pirate was now towering at least an inch over his opponent. His eyes sparkled derisively as he looked down at him, "I thought you were taller when we met last, maybe you should change your diet, little man….Sorry to say, but it seems you are shrinking, which is odd since your ego seems to have grown considerably since I've last seen you."

"Mock all you want, Sparrow, but in the end it is I who will have the last laugh," Beckett responded calmly while his hand unconsciously reached for the chain around his neck, in order to find reassurance in this gesture.

"Admiral, take him away. I want his execution to be something special, something that everyone will remember. It will need a little preparation and creativity," the nobleman gloated smilingly, but the content expression on his face quickly died away when he heard Norrington's response.

"I don't think so," he crossed his arms over his chest in defiance.

"What do you mean…you don't think so?! You ungrateful nothing! I picked you out of the gutter…If it wasn't for me you would be completely ruined. You'd have nothing! So don't just stand there gapping like a fish out of water, take him away or I'll have you both arrested," nervous red dots formed on Beckett's skin, his voice doubled over and his anger let him articulate the words so forcefully he spit.

"Is that how your twisted mind works? Are you honestly trying to imply you saved me?" James narrowed his eyes dangerously, "Your not capable of an act of compassion, your just a selfish despot who only cares for one thing in the world….himself."

"How dare you talk to me like that? All I have to due is snap my finger and the whole garrison will come to my aid. I'll have you two locked up until doomsday. Let you rot in your little cells where the worms will feast on you."

"You didn't think we were as stupid as to actually come alone, mate," Sparrow said in a derisive tone.

"Actually I do. Guards!" his shrill voice reverberated loudly through the mansion. When he came up for air to call a second time Jack's hand firmly clasped over his opened mouth. Beckett's eyes protruded comically as he stared down at the dirty hand that had silenced him.

"I'd rethink that plan, my friend. One more sound from your lips and I'll take care you'll be able to sing in a falsetto voice for the rest of your life," Jack's golden teeth flashed as he sneered at the smaller man.

Beckett managed to wrench himself free and frantically grabbed for the chain around his neck, by now the only means by which he could procure his safety, since Norrington was openly refusing to obey his orders and the guards' arrival was apparently delayed. With one hand he drew his sword to ward of his opponents with the other he produced the key, unaware of the men's matching expressions of tensed expectation as they watched him.

Josephine had been able to tell him where the key was; the location of the safe though, was up until now a mystery to them. Hopeful they would manage to find out where the heart was hidden ere the guards would arrive. Judging from Beckett's panicking behaviour they were running late.

Norrington noticed Beckett retreating in the general direction of his desk. A baffled frown flitted over his face at that, then his gaze fell on the oversized world map hanging from the wall behind it. He tilted his head and looked at it in concentration. It was slightly askew. This would have never have come to his attention, had it not been for Beckett's suspicious behaviour. He stepped forward determinedly and drew his sword to wordlessly advance on his opponent.

Beckett stopped his frantic retreat and reached for his own sword. His face seemed a lot paler than only a minute ago. He had heard that Norrington was quite the proficient swordsman. What let him face this fight with a certain confidence though, was the fact that not only technique alone decided who would be victorious, but also who managed to keep his temper in check. He had no doubt he would be able to conjure a few barbs that would distract the unsuspecting Admiral. Beckett assumed his fighting stance and motioned Norrington to come closer.

The exchange of blows was hesitant at first, as each of them tried to assess their vis-à-vis and maybe discover an opening in the other's defence. What Beckett lacked in finesse he made up with zest. He let his blows rain down quickly on Norrington who barely broke a sweat as he deflected his attacks. Beckett had always had the advantage that others were willing to physically fight his battles for him, he never got involved and preferred to watch from afar, while Norrington had never shied away from engaging in combat – he never really had had a choice, being a soldier.

Everybody in their right mind could clearly see, they were not evenly matched, even Beckett. So he chose to place a well-aimed verbal attack. "Are you sure you know what you're doing, Admiral?" they were circling each other, which afford Beckett the possibility to taunt his opponent, "Unfortunately there's no place for mutineers in this town. After this you will have nowhere left to go to except for his world," he indicated Sparrow who was leaning casually against the desk watching the fight with the interest a theatre-goer watches an exciting play, "Are you ready to become a pirate?"

A muscle in James's chin briefly twitched otherwise there was no indication this comment got to him. His next attack though was a little less accurate than usual and his eyes flashed with an angry glimmer. "Who says I'm was planning on staying here?"

"You don't fool me. I can read you like a book, Norrington," he didn't bother with titles in this situation, "You're a man who craves stability, likes an orderly daily routine. That's why you wanted your old life back so badly, wasn't it? And now you're stuck with my sister. She's chaos…ready to turn the world upside down so she can live in it…Must be hell for you."

Apparently he had struck a wrong chord, because if anything else his comment only increased Norrington's determination. He had most certainly not planned on this. "You don't get to talk about her. You don't even get to think her name, much less judge her," each of James's sentences reinforced by an angry strike that drove Beckett back until he pumped against the edge of his desk. Their blades crossed and lowered dangerously in the direction of Cutler's throat, effectively leaving him with no room for escape. Norrington reached out and brutally yanked the chain with the key from his neck with a disdainful gesture. The look on his face sent chills through Beckett's body and made him fear for his life. The sharp shimmering steal was almost touching his skin, when Sparrow finally decided to make his presence known.

The pirate cleared his throat dramatically and then decided to speak up, "Mate, I think it's my turn now," he laid a calming hand on James's shoulder. He had to interfere before he did something very stupid.

It took a few seconds before Norrington reacted, but Beckett couldn't help but feel relieved. He lowered his blade, but that was a mistake, because right about them an angry fist blow hit him on the nose. James rubbed his knuckles with grim satisfaction as he watched the other man hold his hands to his face in agony. Blood was slowly trickling through his fingers.

"I'm done with him. He's all yours now, Jack," he said darkly and stepped aside. "You're going to be alright, aren't you?" James added in an afterthought, already turning towards the world map behind which the safe was hidden. There was a hint of concern in his voice, which could easily be over-heard if you didn't pay close attention.

"No worries, Commodore. You of all people should know that Captain Jack Sparrow isn't easily caught," the pirate reassured him and drew his sword, advancing slowly on Beckett.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's note: **As you might have noticed the end of this little story is drawing near. Still...let me know what you're thinking about this? I hope you've liked it so far and I didn't go to dark a place...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He stepped out on the corridor, behind him the noise of the sword fight – the brachial sounds of blades clashing with each other mingled with the insults the opponents were shouting at each other, but he couldn't wait to see how it would all turn out. He had to go, because time was slowly running out.

Norrington held the bag pressed to his body like one would hold a newborn infant. He was very careful not to let it fall nor let any other damage get to it. The fact that nobody had stepped into his way up until now, managed to astonish him immensely. This was almost running too smoothly. He stole preoccupied glances at his treasured prey and continued his way as fast as he possibly could.

When he reached the main hall the reason why the guards hadn't rushed to Beckett's defence was quickly found. The mansion currently bore a suspicious resemblance to a war zone. From his position on the top of the stairs he could oversee the scenery well enough to quickly assess the situation. At least half a dozen navy officers were trying to fight back a crowd of unwashed, ruff-looking individuals – pirates, who were holding the upper hand in the fight. The soldiers were attacking with a certain inexperienced naivety that afforded their opponents a substantial advantage who were not afraid to use all the dirty tricks the hard school of life had taught them.

As his eyes quickly roamed over the scenery to find the best route of escape he spotted a familiar face in the crowd. It was Elizabeth Swann. She was clothed like a simple peasant in a pair of brown trousers and a plain shirt, very much like the last time he had seen her. The young woman was fiercely engaged into a fight with a soldier, wielding two swords at a time. If she was here Turner couldn't be far. They were like the plague and famine. They always appeared together. Though he couldn't see Turner anywhere nearby he was sure he was somewhere down there. He quirked his eyebrows in astonishment, when he recognized the man fighting at her side – Captain Victor Barbossa. He had believed him dead. Apparently all pirates made a habit out of not obeying even the simple rules of life and death.

He decided to waste no more time on standing around and gaping uselessly, so he turned to go, but was stopped short, when he felt the cool metal of a blade pressing against his throat. He recognized the voice immediately, "Not so fast! I believe you have something of ours."

Norrington rose his hands in defeat and slowly turned around, but made no notions of handing the heart over to Turner. The pressure of the sword against his skin increased impatiently, "Didn't you hear me? I want the heart! Now!"

Turner's face bore clear signs of deep agitation. His eyes were nervously wandering here and there and sweat was glistening on his forehead, he suspected did not stem from the exertion of the fight, since the young man was a skilled sword fighter. The tip of the blade trembled slightly.

Norrington knew why the other man wanted the heart so badly. Turner needed it to save his father – a honourable reason, which he could understand well, but nevertheless he wasn't ready to give into his demands. If he did, it would undoubtedly mean Josephine's end, since he would not be able to hold up his end of the bargain with Davy Jones. Though the heart now gave him control over Davy Jones, the rest of the crew of the Flying Dutchman, was unfortunately free to do as they pleased and if he didn't return soon they would murder her.

"I've heard you the first time," he said finally. The exhaustion had managed to seep into his voice. It sounded forced, not like he remembered it. "But however much I understand the reasons behind your request, I can't grant it."

"If I have to kill you to get the heart, I'll do it," William almost screamed in barely contained rage. His entire body language was aggressive, every muscle tense. He was like a strained bow that was about to be fired. James had no doubt that his threat was to be taken quite seriously.

"Don't you understand, Turner?" he tried again, now applying all his persuasive powers "I'm not trying to keep the heart for myself. I have no interest in its power…"

"Just why does that strike me as a lie? Didn't you steal it to come here and have your honour restored?"

"I came here with other intention than I left with," Norrington responded unwilling to reveal an explanation that ventured any further in matters that were his own private concern. He may have made his peace with Jack Sparrow, but his dislike for Turner sat very deep.

Turner nodded slowly and indicated James's sword with a nudge of his head, "Draw, so we can settle this once and for all."

His hand briefly twitched in the direction of the hilt of his sword, but stopped in mid-air. He could not afford to lose anymore precious time. His arms dropped laxly at his side and his adversary looked at him astonished about this unexpected gesture. "Look, Turner, I don't assume we can settle this in a matter of a few minutes. We're quite evenly matched in the area of swordsmanship and I don't plan to engage in an epic battle with you. I'm running out of time!"

"And you expect me to simply step aside and let you pass?! After all that happened? Why?" William asked incredulously.

"As I said. I'm not doing this for me… God damn it!" exasperation finally got the better of him, mainly because the tip of the sword was still hovering in front of his throat and he was now forced to reveal something profoundly private about himself, that he wasn't ready to share with just anybody, in particular not with William Turner. "It's for a woman! You of all should understand best," he angrily pushed the blade aside with his bare hand.

"I don't believe a single word your saying. I'm not anybody's fool anymore. You've already betrayed our trust once and I'm supposed to believe you now? I don't think so! The choice is quite simple: draw or die!" William's face was stony, his body straightened as he assumed his fighting stance.

Norrington had still to make a move. While his face was impassive, the emotional state he was in, was tempestuous at best, which did not allow him to form any coherent thoughts. The idea that this was the just punishment for his deeds struck him, even through a haze of panic and despair. He was not afraid of the fight nor afraid of losing. His life and death didn't matter if he only could save Josephine's.

What had brought him into this situation was pride and the unhealthy excrescences of a bruised ego. He then realized that fighting Turner would not be an act of bravery, it would just be another error in an long succession of errors. If he engaged into a fight with him, he would do it, because he disliked the other man, because the idea of defeating him tempted him, because he wanted to proof once again that he was better than him.

William watched with satisfaction as Norrington's hand reached for his weapon, it closed slowly around the hilt of the sword, he drew, then stretched out his arm and let the blade fall to the floor. Turner would not kill an unarmed man. It was not in his nature.

"I will not fight you," his voice was resigned and calm. "It's true, you do have no reason to trust me. That we dislike each other is no secret," Norrington smiled. This was gallows humour if nothing else. The irony of the situation was not lost to him "But this really is important to me, this means more than my pride, my honour, my reputation….So what does it take to convince you that I'm telling the truth? Do you have to see me bleed? Do we have to fight till death to see whose more skilled with the blade – who wants this more?" James's gaze landed on the bag he still held clutched to his body as if his life depended on it – not his life, but somebody else's. "What does it take, Turner? Do you want me to beg……I'll do it if it is necessary to convince you," his voice was low and the strength it cost him to utter those words that were so deeply against his nature was clearly visible on his face.

At that William slowly lowered his weapon. He could tell his vis-à-vis was telling the truth, still Norrington's strange behaviour puzzled him and left him without a clue as what to do next.

"I'll offer you a deal," Norrington's said finally, not giving the younger man anymore time to ponder this situation, "if I'm lying we can still settle this with our blades….but first I need you to come with me. I have to reach the Flying Dutchman in time to give Davy Jones the heart so he will refrain from killing Josephine. What you do or don't do afterwards is of little consequence to me, but if it encourages your trust I'll offer my assistance….You have my word."

The implication of Norrington's offer were not lost to William. Considering from where it came from it was a grand gesture. At the mention of the name Josephine a lot of confusing puzzle pieces finally fell together. This finally explained her strange behaviour. The self-loathing visible on her face, when she had kidnapped Jack, her apologetic words before she left through the portal. His next thoughts he spoke out loud, "You and Josephine? Why'd she do all this?"

"Because she wanted to save me. It turned out that bargaining with Cutler is a lot like striking a deal with the devil. He tricked me, threatened to kill her. We had no other choice," Norrington explained hurriedly, as he nervously looked around. He was getting impatient. "I can't wait any longer….Are you in this or do you need an extra invitation?" his last words sounded a little harsher than he had intended. It was hard jumping his own shadow.

"Wait…just one more thing, before we go."

"What?" Norrington asked exasperatedly.

"What about Jack?" William finally asked.

James sighed and rolled his eyes. It was always about that blasted pirate.


	21. Chapter 21

What about Jack, indeed. Back in Beckett's study the two opponents were still engaged in a fierce fight, which was not only decided by the finesse with which their wielded their swords but also by who managed to get the other to commit a mistake by insulting him. Years of bent up hatred found their release in snide remarks and venomous barbs.

Of course, this had all started with a woman. A very beautiful young woman, a lady of noble lineage, who had been betrothed to Beckett. Their union had been predestined by well-meaning parents on both sides. Cutler saw no reason to object to this arranged marriage, but his bride to be did.

While her fiancé had not harbour any suspicions as to the fact that she might be unsatisfied with their marital arrangements, she had started a clandestine affaire with a dashing, young salesman named Jack Sparrow, who had back then not yet been a pirate. It turned out that their liaison was not as clandestine as both of them had hoped. One day Cutler surprised them. As a consequence the wedding was called off and out of a deep felt desire for revenge groundless accusation were pronounced to incriminate Jack Sparrow. He was said to be a pirate. (which soon became reality out of youthful defiance). Later youthful defiance turned into a conviction. This concatenation of unfortunate events presented the foundation upon which the deep felt animosity between Beckett and Sparrow rested.

"It's only you and me now, Sparrow," Beckett called out derisively. His chest was heaving and the soaked fabric of his shirt was clinging unpleasantly to his skin. He held his aching side with his free hand.

"Yes, and very soon there's only going to be me. The company will be much more pleasant then," Sparrow grinned at him ironically before he started another attack. Beckett was able to barrier his blows, but his arm was getting heavier by the minute.

"Even if you should defeat me there will be always something you can remember me by," Beckett hissed at his opponent as they circled each other. He was referring to the burn mark on Jack's forearm. He couldn't help but feel satisfied, because he had managed to imprint the sign of his superiority over the other man on his skin.

"Your giving yourself far too much credit. The only one this reminds me of is Cecilia and the night we spent together. And I can tell you it's been worth it. God knows, she needed a little fun which fortunately I was able to procure… The lass couldn't stand you, you know. Told me all about you, how you were boring her to death with your endless talk about your ambitions. The poor thing could barely support the sound of your voice. She said it was like the scratching of nails on a chalkboard. I'd have to second her on that…." Jack taunted.

"Still it doesn't leave you in a position to boast over your conquests, Sparrow. She eventually got bored of you like every other woman since her must have," Beckett cunningly delivered his repartee. They exchanged a few blows, their feet advancing and moving back on the floor as if they were executing some aggressive war dance.

"At least I manage to satisfy a woman. You can't say as much for yourself. Who'd ever want a dwarfish eunuch?" Sparrow's remark managed to distract Beckett momentarily, so his weak parade only deflected the pirate's attack partially and the blade cut his right upper arm.

"Interesting…did I hit a weak spot there?" Jack backed up a little, tilting his head to watch the other man with sadistic pleasure.

"Not at all," Beckett grimaced slightly when he touched the cut, but quickly an impassive expression settle on his face. "At least I made something out of myself. I am somebody, people look up to me. Your just a criminal, an outcast of society – nothing but scum. What have you to show for? Just look at yourself. Your crazy antics, your drunk swagger – nobody will ever take you serious. To half of the world you're a lunatic, the other half thinks you're a bad pirate, the butt of every joke," he spat at him venomously. Every word was well calculated and he was pleased to see they had a considerable effect on his opponent.

Something inside of Jack snapped. He didn't like his abilities being questioned. Whenever someone did that, he felt compelled to prove them wrong. A wild fire flared in his eyes. His next attacks were much better aimed then before and lacked the casual sloppiness they had exhibited before.

Cutler had a hard time deflecting them. Right then he knew he was loosing. The ice cold feeling of immobilizing dread spread in his veins, then the blade of Jack's sword pierced his skin. Though he knew this had been coming he looked down at the blood oozing wound with an expression of surprise. It had entered his body just a little bit below his heart. The fabric of his vest, that had once been pale blue now was a rich burgundy colour. Funny, like someone had spilled wine on it.

"You killed me," he said coughing on something metallic. It was a mere statement lacking any accusation. Somehow he did not feel like it was adequate to be resentful.

"Yes," Jack answered with a strange expression on his face that was implacable and ranged somewhere between impassiveness and wonder. Almost mechanically he retracted the sword and the other man fell to the floor lifelessly. Jack just stood there motionlessly looking down at Beckett's rigid form. "Let's see who's the butt of the joke now," he said after a while.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James stepped on deck of the Flying Dutchman with a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. The crew parted before him, letting him pass. Turner had agreed to assist him with his plan. He was to keep in the shadows until his services were needed, until then he was on his own.

He knew that Davy Jones would not hold up his end of the bargain, so he had to force him to do it. Norrington drew his sword with a grim expression on his face. If he made a wrong move, if he misjudged his opponent he would inevitably end up killing himself and Josephine.

Davy Jones spotted him the second he had stepped foot on deck. His sarcastic words greeted him as a welcome, "It took you quite some time. I was already getting impatient," he bestowed a meaningful look on the woman standing next to him. Josephine's face was pale as linen, her eyes unnaturally wide. Her expression had something frenzied almost insane to it, it grew more peaceful though, when she laid eyes on James.

"You know I would never have been late," Norrington answered slowly. His gaze alternated between Davy Jones and Josephine. His words held a double meaning, that was either defiant or reassuring, depending on who he was addressing.

"Give me the heart and you'll be gone from this ship in a minute," Davy Jones's tone was almost paternal. He stretched out his right hand, while the claw that was once his left hand was closed around Josephine's wrist. His skin shimmered unnaturally in the moonlight and the tentacle that had replaced his index finger, twitched impatiently as if it was insistently motioning James to come closer.

"No," James said firmly and stayed right were he was.

A collective intake of breath seemed to have suddenly silenced the Flying Dutchman. Davy Jones stared at him incredulously and obviously his grip on Josephine tightened as well. She let out a tiny yelp of pain. James flinched. "I thought I just didn't hear right. Did you just refuse to give me back the heart?"

"You did not. If I gave you the heart now, our chance of survival will be very slim. You would have killed us days ago, had you not needed her and me to get what you want."

Davy Jones hesitated briefly before he answered. He took a while to assess his vis-à-vis thoroughly, then he finally came to a conclusion. "You might be right with that," came his begrudging answer, "Still this leaves us in a bit of a quandary, where neither of us gets what he wants. I have your girl, while you have the heart….Oh wait, what about I kill her right now?" Josephine let a cry of pain as his claw tightened further around her wrist.

Her stifled cry seemed to penetrate him to the bone. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he tried to suppress his anger. James raised the blade of his sword to the bag that held Davy Jones's heart wordlessly. "That would be very….very unadvisable," there was barely contained hatred in his voice. The tip of his sword was slightly shaking, but he tightened his grip around the hilt and it stopped.

"So what do you suggest? We stand here till either of us tires?" Davy Jones looked at him mockingly.

"No, I suggest you let a few of your crewmembers accompany us off board, then I'll hand them the heart. We leave and you'll be free to do as you please," there, he had prepared the bait. It just remained to be seen if Davy Jones would swallow it.

After what seemed to be an eternity Davy Jones finally nodded. His motivation for agreeing to this risky bargain was mainly his deep desire to get back his freedom. Having to obey someone else's commands had made him sick to the stomach and now that the opportunity to escape this dire affliction presented itself, he was more than willing to grasp it. With a wave of his hand he selected five of his crewman to accompany them off board. Of course the bosun was among them. James's eyes narrowed into tiny slits as laid eye on him.

"Didn't you forget something?" Norrington protested as the men slowly set in motion.

"Oh, of course, how foolish of me," Davy Jones said in mock surprise. With a little more strength than necessary he pushed Josephine away. The young woman stumbled, swayed momentarily, but did not fall. She timidly looked around as if to make sure she was now truly allowed to go. As she realized no one would be stepping in her way she slowly started walking towards Norrington. He tried to avoid looking at her face, because he knew once he did, it would become hard focusing on anything else but her. The soldier in him told him to be pragmatic, to keep a cool head and remain emotionally detached just as long as they were in danger.

"Come on," he said softly, when she had reached him. He was not able to reach out and hold her hand, since his fingers were still firmly clutched around the hilt of the sword, so he tried to convey at least some kind of reassurance with his voice. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her nod, while they slowly retreated to the gangway. He was constantly alert, trying to make sure no one would be able to surprise him with a an attack and hinder them from escaping.

The board croaked under their feet as they slowly made their way down the gangway. The steps of the crewmen could be heard shortly after. They were following a few meters behind, close enough to keep them from taking flight and far enough to not make James overly suspicious. They came to an halt shortly after they had stepped ashore. It would now only be a matter of mere minutes and this nightmare would be over once and for all.

"Josephine," her name from his lips was a comforting sound to her. It managed to penetrate the fearful haze that clouded her mind.

"Yes," she answered hesitantly. Her voice was raspy and fragile. Like she hadn't spoken in hours.

"It would be best if you walked ahead. Just a few steps. I'll be with you in no time," he told her with a calm voice.

"No, I'll…."

"Now is not the time to argue. Do as I say," he interrupted her. His voice sounded harsher than she was used to. Josephine flinched slightly, but did not budge an inch. He did not comment except with an exasperate role of his eyes.

"Here," he casually threw over the heart to the crewmen who were waiting a few steps away. The bosun caught it easily and contorted his visage into something that vaguely resembled a smirk. Everything would have been settled with this, but Turner chose exactly this moment to emerge from his hiding place. This didn't go as he had planned. As a matter of fact this didn't go as he had planned at all! The idiot Turner was to cover their retreat, not endanger them by attacking at the most inopportune moment.

Seen from William's perspective though, this was the most opportune moment to attack. He had sworn to take his revenge on Davy Jones for what he had done to him and his father. He was not ready to forgive and forget. His thirst for revenge would only be quenched once he had killed Davy Jones. He stepped between the crewmen and the gangway, thereby keeping them from retreating to the Flying Dutchman. He kicked the long board into the water, where it landed with a loud splash, effectively hindering the crew of the Flying Dutchman to come to the aid of their comrades. What Turner was about to do was, still neither particularly prudent nor risk free. It was him against five. To say he was outnumbered would have meant downplaying the situation drastically.

"Turner, you fool, what are you trying to do? Get us all killed?" Norrington called out to him agitatedly.

"Well, I was supposed to help you. That's what I'm doing right now…helping," William drew his sword and launched right into the fight.

"Can't see you being much of a help right now," Norrington mumbled gruffly, ere he engaged in battle himself, while Josephine was left there standing somewhat perplexed.

The five crewmen had in the meantime come to their senses. They were dangerous opponents. Their fighting technique had something ferocious to it, as if it their slow transformation into sea creatures had infused them with a wild and untamed spirit. It turned out to be rather hard to predict were their attacks might fall and how they would be executed. William and James were managing to hold their own, but barely so, since they were outnumbered. Turner was balancing precariously along the edge of the peer as he fought three opponents at once, while the remaining two focused on Norrington instead. He deflected an attack aimed at him. Two swords clashed and Norrington skilfully managed to disarm one of his attackers. The weapon skidded over the pavement and landed right at Josephine's feet. It laid there taunting her for a while, and then she finally bent down and picked it up.

It was the first time she held a sword in her hand. The hilt was still warm from the body heat of her predecessor. She looked at it with strange wonder, as she turned the tarnished blade slowly. For this brief moment the noise of the fight receded, then it returned with full force. Her gaze immediately sought James and she found him fighting two opponents at a time, one of them being the bosun. There was something about that image that made Josephine's temper flare.

Maybe it was only the prospect that the bosun, could once again hurt Norrington – a brief flash of memory from a few days back, when he had flogged him with the whip, but it sufficed to let her throw all caution over board. It seemed irrelevant that she had never learned how to wield a sword and the thought that he was much bigger and stronger did not even occur to her. A surge of adrenaline suddenly flooded her body. All she could see was James, all she could think about was that she needed to help him. A red veil fell over her eyes as anger took control of her. She launched herself with a shrill shriek at the bosun, who standing with his back to her, had no time to react to her attack.

He whipped around and unwillingly bared his side to her in the process. The sword embedded itself in his flesh with a sickening wet sound. The agonized expression on his face was accompanied by an animalistic cry of pain as she retracted the blade. Her motion was instinctive like a bee shedding its sting after it had just stung its enemy. The bag with Davy Jones's heart in it, slipped from the bosun's fingers and landed at Josephine's feet. Her eyes widened as they settled on it and without thinking too much about it she had snatched it up. For a second she was tempted and allowed herself to actually think about how much power she was currently holding in her hands, but only for a second. Then her preoccupied glance briefly returned to the fighting scene that was unfolding before her very eyes. The decision was easily made. When she would think back to it later, she would realize it was not moral nor was it the product of consideration; she only acted on her instincts. With a quick motion of her arm she executed the deadly stab to Davy Jones's heart.

She could see the bosun turn into her direction. He advanced dangerously on her, still clutching his wounded side with his hands, but then he fell. There was a strange expression of surprise emblazoned on his features. Behind his huge and bulky form appeared a grim looking James with the bloody blade in his hands. With a soft thud the body landed on the floor and for some inane reason Josephine couldn't pry her eyes away from it. A deep red puddle formed underneath his midsection.

It seemed his hoarse scream still reverberated in her ears. It was supposed to be fading but it didn't, instead it increased in intensity and was united with a choir of voices. Yet she did not look away from the body.

The bosun's features, once a monstrous scaly mask, slowly morphed into an ordinary human face. Josephine blinked in surprise as if she was unable to believe her eyes, but they were not lying. The body at her feet really did belong to a human being. When she looked around in wonder she noticed that a similar change had taken hold of the other attackers. Some of them were clutching their faces and twisting on the floor in agony, while for others, whose transformation had not yet progressed as far, the process was less painful, but just as surprising. They felt their faces hesitantly and their eyes looked around in bewilderment as if they had just awoken from deep slumber.

A sticky substance was trickling down her fingers. It was blood – Davy Jones's blood…thick, coagulated almost black. Her face contorted in disgust, as she realized she had just killed somebody. The sword fell from her hand with a clatter, which barely reached her ears. All sensations seemed somewhat muffled, so that a muted metallic thud was all she heard. When James addressed her and stepped up to her, she saw his lips moving but heard no sound. Darkness closed in from the edges of her vision and she suddenly had the sensation of falling.


	22. Chapter 22

Josephine was sitting on the beach of Port Royal. The sound of the waves and the peaceful picture of white sand and blue water helped to somewhat ease her troubled mind. Her footprints were starting to get washed away by the flood, but she could still see them. They let up to the small fisher boat in which she was now sitting, trying to draw some comfort from the peaceful scenery surrounding her. She slightly wiggled her naked toes, to which the humid sand was still clinging. Its rough feeling against her skin was pleasant, as was the warm wood, which had been heated up by the sun.

The happenings of the last couple of days should have been only an unpleasant memory by now, but they were still fresh in her mind. Not even the gentle caress of the Caribbean afternoon sun was able to make her forget them or ignore the chill that crept up her spine at the mere thought of them.

When she had regained consciousness James had been there, telling her that everything was over, that they were out of danger. Davy Jones was dead and his crew taken care of. She could hear the enthusiasm in his voice, the relief, but somehow she could not join in on those feelings. She felt numb, overwhelmed, like she had seen too much in too little of a time.

Josephine had insisted to get up against James's protestation that she should at least allow herself some rest after all she had been through, but she chose to ignore them. She was neither hurt nor ill and therefore saw no need to spend the remainder of the day in bed. In retrospect it would have probably been a good decision to follow his advice, since shortly after she had met Jack Sparrow, who had told her in an uncharacteristically caring and sensitive way - in many words and in a soft tone of voice - that her brother was dead. She had expected it, but still she was not prepared for it. To her own surprise she had started crying right then and there, which caused the pirate to awkwardly offer her a consoling hug. She had stood there weeping at his shoulder for a while, feeling like a complete idiot. After that numbness, nothing. That was why she had fled here.

She stared down at the rough surface of the wood that was almost grey thanks to its incessant exposure to wind and weather. She felt like she had undertaken a long journey only to end up once again where she had started. It let her doubt who she was, doubt the things she had thought were for granted.

Now that Cutler was dead, she was her own master. It was a thought she did not like thinking, but nevertheless it forced itself on her. She was financially independent and did not to ask anybody's permission anymore before she took a decision, but nevertheless she had not wanted her brother's death in order to achieve that kind of freedom. However much she had hated him, their ties of blood were not easily discarded. It was hard to think of someone as entirely evil when you had spent your whole childhood living with them, sharing very similar memories about that important phase of your life.

This disconcerting lack of emotion, she was experiencing currently, also let her doubt her relationship with Norrington. How could something that felt so intense and had seemed so important now seem inconsequential? Had it all been nothing but a whim? Were desperate times to blame for their need to cling to each other and temporarily hold on to a feeling they thought to be love? Had it been love after all? Did she love him?

Her musings were disrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. She did not raise her head and kept staring at the bleached wood boards of the boat with a bland expression on her face. The steps came to a halt very close by.

"Requesting permission to come aboard," she heard a familiar voice say. It was low and soft and the intimacy it contained mocked the formality of his words.

Only then did she raise her head to look at Norrington. She was squinting against the light of the sun trying in vain to make out something other than just the contour of his body looming over her. "Permission granted," she said after a while.

He climbed into the boat somewhat circumstantially and slowly sat down on the small bench opposite of her. The small vessel was rocking momentarily thanks to his movements, but it stopped after he had settled in.

She stared at him for a while, taking in his plain clothes, his clean shaven chin and the worried expression in his eyes that bore her inquisitive gaze unflinchingly. The scene was only accompanied by the soft cries of the seagulls that were circling overhead and the rushing of the sea.

After awhile her eyes landed on his feet. Polished leather shoes with a buckle. It seemed somewhat grotesque he should wear them out here on the beach. Despite her sullen mood a smile flitted over her face, which aroused in him the need to enquire after the source of her amusement.

"It's just…Well, has it never occurred to you that it might be actually nice to feel the sand underneath your feet?" she asked with a mixture of surprise and mockery.

"Apparently not," he raised his eyebrows as the corners of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly.

She realized right then and there that this trivial interaction was actually characteristic for their relationship, of who they were, of their limitations and characteristics. She was woman that essentially did not fit the time she was born into - a time that was obsessed with etiquette and the ideal of an orderly life, ruled by reason. Somehow it seemed to her as if he was the embodiment of all those virtues that this age praised so highly, a fact which made her doubt whether they were truly destined to be together. The smile completely disappeared from her face.

At the end of this line of thought lay a realization that was so fundamental, so impressive to her that she had to vocalize it, "I'm just not right for you," she said exhaustedly.

The expression on his face quickly changed from mild amusement to shock, bewilderment and finally settled on hurt. "What….what makes you say such a thing?" he enquired softly.

"I'm surprised you should have to ask," Josephine said bitterly. "We're very different you and I. I'm not the kind of woman, a man wants to marry. I don't behave as a young lady is expected to. I speak my mind and unsettle men, because I dare to contradict them…."

"So, I've noticed, but those traits of character a hardly a flaw in my eyes. I also think it to be untrue that no man would want to marry you," his last words were well measured and accompanied by a gaze that held an intensity that made her shiver.

"But when we first met you said my behaviour was improper, that I didn't know my place…," it seemed difficult to wrap her thoughts around the words she had just heard him utter. Her heart had outraced her head a couple of weeks ago and now it had trouble catching up.

"It was foolish of me to say such things, especially since I now think them to be absolutely nonsensical. I have wasted so much energy on being somebody else. I tried desperately to be what others expected me to be: a dutiful soldier, a good son, a respectable man… The heart does not love appearances. It loves what lies behind titles, names, appearances and expectations."

"You're an idealist," she smiled sadly.

"Is it not in the nature of man to be idealistic when he loves?" he gave her a serious look.

"He also tends to make foolish decision when he thinks he's in love."

He smiled and shook his head, "I don't merely think I'm in love with you," her heart sped up at his words. For the first time in days her feelings fully resurfaced from her subconscious. They seemed more potent now that they had been fearfully suppressed for so long. "I know that I love you."

"What if it was just a passing fancy? What if we just clung to the thought of being in love because we needed you each other right then?" she asked with a shaky voice that was filled with emotion. Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears.

"Do you honestly believe that?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore."

"We've been through a lot in the past few weeks... It's hard not to feel overwhelmed and exhausted. Give it some time...," he said gently.

"What if it this feeling doesn't go away...What if it stays like this? I can't feel anything. I'm nothing but a hollow shell...No, hollow is wrong...I did some things that make me feel nothing, but disgust and regret...I killed a man."

"I don't think there is anything I could say to console you," he said after a while, "I can only tell you that I'll be there for you," his fingers softly caressed her hands that lay inside her lap clutched tightly together. Her tense posture relaxed a little at his gentle touch. "I'll be there for you if you let me."

"I don't know…"

"Why?"

"James, what if it will never be the same again," he knew what she meant without her having to say it. What if her feelings for him would never return again, "Would it be the right thing to do if I took advantage of you like that?"

"Josephine, don't you understand? I have no choice in this. I love you. I couldn't possibly turn away from you and leave you to deal with this all by yourself," there was a bittersweet sadness in his words that almost broke her heart.

"What do you want?" she asked softly, unable to understand how she had deserved so much unconditional devotion.

"The answer's quite simple...To be with you."

"I don't even know who I am anymore. I feels like there's nothing left of me - of who I was. Nothing to give. Everything's slipping from me grasp. There's nothing to hold on to, because everything changes so quickly," she tried to explain desperately.

He understood her, especially since it had not been too long since he had felt the same, "Josephine, do you remember our conversation the night before you left? When I told you that I had lost my way...you said it was just change…"

"Yes," she nodded with tears in her eyes.

"This right here...this is change...it is frightening, unpleasant, maddening, but it will pass. It will wash over you, but it will not wash you away. You are much stronger than this. You can't control it. It took me a long time to understand it. I struggled, I tried to keep control, I despaired, because I knew that I was losing. Finally I relented and let go. I let it happen and it became easier. I've learned that I will never be able to live up to everyone's expectation, sometimes not even my own. I've learned to acknowledge failure, I've learned to that there are no absolutes in life. No absolute despair, no absolute pleasure. No matter how bleak the situation may be appear, there is still hope. There is hope that someday you might look back and realize that it was an important experience, that made you learn and grow stronger. I'm keeping my head over water, I'm merely afloat, but I'm not sinking."

His hand was still holding hers. Josephine looked down on their interlaced fingers. They fitted together so naturally, almost out of instinct. Like they had long before her understood something she had yet to realize. "I'm...sorry," she told him and hung her head.

"What for?"

"I shouldn't have doubted you...us."

"So you haven't given up hope on us entirely?" he said. She saw the tension in his face and the way his shoulders stiffened as he awaited her answer anxiously. It was not an absurd question to ask, after all Elizabeth Swann had once promised him her hand in marriage and then decided to run away with another man.

"No, I haven't," she replied softly.

He got up and the small boat rocked gently as he approached her and then kneeled down in front of her, so that his face was at the same level as hers. There was a searching expression in his eyes as if he was asking her permission to proceed. She nodded her head and he leaned in to softly kiss her on the lips. It was a very chaste kiss, full of reverence and devotion. Initially she did not respond to it, unable to channel into those emotions she had buried underneath despair and fears, but then his fingers grazed her cheeks and she shivered, not because of the caress, but because she suddenly remembered this deep sense of belonging, the warmth and security she had felt. Her palm hesitantly touched his chest and through the fabric of the shirt could feel his heart palpitating anxiously. She then realized his outward courage and his calm reasoning had only been a façade.

"I'm sorry," she repeated again. "I…I…was such a fool."

"You've never been a fool in all your life, dear," he said softly. "There's no need to apologize. I understand," his hand softly stroke her hair.

"It's still there, you know."

"What?" he knew what she was alluding to, still he had to ask.

"What I feel for you….I love you."

Josephine was the one to initiate the kiss this time which was neither innocent nor hesitant this time. It held all her bottled up emotion and was met with eager ardour from his side. She felt his tongue graze her lips and she granted him entry, feeling her heart sped up in response. Her hands roamed over his back, then kneaded through his hair trying to hold on to him and pull him closer in anyway they could, while his tongue explored her mouth.

Somehow, she did not know how, their position had shifted and she only became aware of it, when she felt his weight on top of her. They broke apart, each of them slightly out of breath. She felt an apology coming up, judging from the slightly embarrassed look on his face, but ere he could open his mouth to say it, she put her hand over his lips, "Don't even think about apologizing. There's no need for apologies, especially when you've just kissed me like that."

He gently pulled her hand away from his mouth, "I did not want to apologize," he told her smiling down at her tenderly and she couldn't help but feel relieved. "I merely wanted to suggest that we should probably stop now."

"Why?" she asked incredulously.

"Because if we don't I might ravish you right here on the spot…," he told her in all honesty, though he could not hide his embarrassment thanks to the slight pink that coloured his cheeks.

She regarded his admission as a compliment. The idea that she could reduce a grown man like him to behaving like a flustered teenager with just one kiss, was strangely appealing. It made her wonder just how far she could go until he lost control. So she batted her eyelashes coyly at him and said in her most innocent voice, "Then tell me if not here where would you like to ravish me then?"

A soft groan of frustration was his response, and then a mischievous spark flared in his eyes. He bent down and whispered his response into her ear. She shivered as his hot breath tickled her skin and his words fuelled her imagination.

"Such a dirty mind. I never would have expected…," her voice did not nearly sound as cool as she had wanted it to. It was rather husky and low.

She could see the intensity of his desire shine in his eyes, but still he did not allow it to fully rein his actions, "I do want to do this thing for once the proper way. When we are ready to…," he let the rest of his sentence hang in the air, implying that he would leave it to her when the right time had come, which he knew was probably not now, that she still had to work through the happenings of the last couple of weeks.

Josephine nodded and at this he slowly got up. He climbed out of the boat and offered her his hand. She took it and followed him. Then they stood facing each other for a moment both at a loss for words.

"You go ahead. I'll make sure the boat doesn't get dragged out on sea by the flood. The fisherman must have failed to take care of that," told her somewhat abruptly, suddenly feeling slightly awkward.

"Alright, but don't take too long," she said before she turned to slowly saunter ahead.

A few moments later he was at her side again and entwined his fingers with hers. She smiled at him. And later as she cast her eyes down to look for seashells in the sand, she noticed why he had taken so long. He had stripped of his shoes and socks and was now walking bare footedly.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Author's note**: Thank you so much for reading this and maintaining your interest over the course of this story! It's always been a pleasure hearing from, you guys! Take care!


End file.
